


Heart Full of Love

by kawakaeguri



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ALL THE KINKS, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Confident Alistair, Confident Cullen, Cunnilingus, Dom!Alistair, Dom!Cullen, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Eventual Foursome, Eventual Threesome, F/F, F/M, Flogging, Fluff and Smut, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Gen, Going to hell for writing this, I lied, Knifeplay, M/M, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Spanking, THERE IS PLOT, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Whipping, and it's creeping in more, dark!cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 120,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12817872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawakaeguri/pseuds/kawakaeguri
Summary: Kiyone falls into Thedas, landing in Kirkwall, 9:35 Dragon. Only to be found and taken in by Alistair, a former Grey Warden, exiled from his homeland. This is their story.Basically just an excuse for me to write smut and fluff. And a Cullen/Alistair/female menage a trois, that starts in Ch. 15.





	1. Chapter 1

**9:35 Kirkwall**

His sword pulled free of the last bandit with a wet squelch, blood dripping onto the sand. Pulling out a dirtied rag, Alistair wiped his blade clean.

“Good to see you were worth it,” the merchant behind him grunted as he bent over the ropes to readjust his crates on the wagon. “Alright, everything looks good. We’re almost there, correct?”

“Yes. Kirkwall is just over that ridge,” Alistair pointed to a crest in the road up ahead, jumping up to sit on the back of the buggy, leaning against a crate. Nodding to himself, the portly merchant pulled himself up to the seat and flicked the reins to send his horses on their way. 

“Andraste preserve me, is Kirkwall really this terrible? Bodies just scattered about everywhere?” Turning to see the corpses his employer was referring to, the former Grey Warden spotted a body just off the side of the road, sprawled out in the sparse grass. Her chest rose by a fraction.

“She’s alive! Master Benard, hold the wagon please.” The conveyance ground to a sharp halt, throwing Alistair off balance as he stumbled to the ground, running over to the unconscious woman. _No signs of blood. Looks like her leg might be sprained, possibly broken,_ he ran his experienced hands over her limbs, checking for injuries. Reaching up, he brushed her jet black hair out of her eyes and froze. _She’s… beautiful. And what the hell is she wearing?_ She was a petite woman, probably in her early 20s, long, dark eyelashes resting against golden brown freckled cheeks, dark pink lips in a perfect rosebud shape that opened slightly to reveal astonishingly white teeth. Her clothes were the most unusual thing he had ever seen. Pants, made out of a dark blue stiff fabric, embedded with bits of metal where laces should be. Shoes that were spongy almost, colored an unnatural, blinding purple. A soft black shirt woven with tiny threads, painted with a skull formed out of roses, the long sleeves covered in lace. It looked expensive.

“Interesting attire,” Benard peeked over her shoulder.

“Her leg is injured. I’d like to take her with us, into town.” The other man nodded his agreement, watching as Alistair gently lifted the woman up into his arms, arranging her comfortably in a few extra blankets that were stuffed in the back.

“Pretty lass,” he grinned at the younger man.

“Is she?” Alistair blushed. “I, ah, didn’t notice. We should get going, sun will be setting soon.”

Chucking to himself, Benard clambered back up on his wagon, horses restarting their placid trot down the gravel road. _What was she doing out here?_ Alistair wondered. Carefully picking up her hands, he inspected the pads of her fingertips. _Mostly smooth, just a little rough in places. Nobility fallen on hard times? She certainly looks well-bred. Where is she from?_ The mystery woman groaned a bit, squirming in her sleep. Ever so slowly, as to not disturb her further, he lowered her hand, sleeve sliding back to allow him to catch a glimpse of a leather bracelet, embroidered with a multitude of different colored blue glass beads, wrapped around her wrist several times. A tiny silver ring with a crescent moon and star lay around a finger on her right hand.

His gaze continued to examine his stranger, for he had already starting thinking of her as his responsibility, measuring her deep breaths, watching her eyelids flicker tumultuously and her fingers twitch. The walls of the City of Chains cast a long shadow over them, the street lamps already being lit as they rolled into town, stopping in a side alley.

“Many thanks for your fine work, Serah Alistair. I’m assuming you are taking the girl with you?” He nodded, jumping onto the cobblestone road. “Here is your payment, with a bit extra to find her a healer.”

“Oh! Thank you,” Alistair grinned, bowing to the man. “You’re too kind, Master Benard.” Reaching into the back, he drew the woman out, arranging her light form against his splintmail armor, tucking one arm under her knees and using the other to cradle her head. Where would he take her? This job had earned him enough to take her to a regular healer, but assuming she would also need food, well, he didn’t really have all that much to spend. Wasn’t there someone in Darktown? An apostate. Maybe he would help her. Satisfied with this course of action, he turned toward the city, carrying her into the bowels of the underworld. The smell reached him first, the stench of fish and rats, of human urine and feces, unwashed bodies pressing on each other, surrounded by the mold and mildew of the dank warrens that comprised Darktown. The slums of the slums. His arms were starting to burn even under her slight weight so it was a relief to see that the lantern outside of the clinic was lit.

“Excuse me? Is the healer in?” Alistair poked his head past the scrap of wood that served as a door.

“Yes, yes, come in.” A blonde man, hair pulled back into a ponytail, dressed in smudged robes waved them in. Then narrowed his eyes at the pair. “You’re-”

“Not anymore,” he replied tersely, also aware of the Blighted taint rolling through the mage’s veins. 

“Me neither,” the apostate nodded. “Right. Lay her on the table please. What happened?”

“Not sure,” Alistair shrugged. “Found her unconscious on the side of the road. Think her ankle is sprained.”

“It’s a small fracture. I’m Anders, by the way.”

“Alistair.” Silently, he watched the man work, running elegant fingers bathed in a cool, pulsing blue light over her body, healing the break as well as several bruises that lay under her clothes. A soft sigh of relief passed up through her lips.

Smiling, Anders straightened. “There, all better. Her clothes are rather… odd.”

“You’re telling me. How much do I owe you?” Reaching for the pouch of silver at his belt, he waited.

“Oh, I don’t charge for my healing services. Does she have a place to stay?”

“I, um, thought about taking her to the Hanged Man. I have a room there, and…” Anders raised an eyebrow. “No! Nothing like that. I just thought, maybe, she’d like to have a friendly face when she woke up,” he mumbled.

“That may be,” the mage grinned. “Well, if you need me again, you know where to find me.”

“Here,” Alistair pulled out a few pieces of silver, “Take this at least.” Smiling his thanks, Anders took the money and walked them to the door.

“See you around, Alistair.”

Luckily the walk to the Hanged Man, in Lowtown, wasn’t too far. He received more than a fair number of whistles and lewd calls, all amused at the sight of a man carrying the unconscious lady through the darkening streets.

“Like ‘em floppy and pliant, eh?”

“Can’t struggle like that, heh heh!”

Blushing furiously now, grateful to the darkness of night, Alistair picked up his pace, hurrying through the back door to the tavern and inn, practically sprinting up the stairs to the safety of his room. He heaved a sigh of relief as he kicked the door shut, walking a few paces to lay her in his bed.

“Who are you?”

Knowing he would get no answers until she awoke, Alistair decided to make himself useful and go find food for both himself and her, for whenever she awoke. If she awoke. Leaving his shield in the dingy room with her, he padded across the room, silently closing the door behind him.

***

The first thing she was aware of was the smell. Stale alcohol, like the dive bars in the college town she lived and worked in. And… hay? Was she laying on hay? Had she fallen asleep in a barn? Were there even any barns in Los Angeles? No, she wasn’t in LA. She had driven north into the mountains, taking a day to herself to just wander the trails and enjoy nature and the freedom from the last round of finals and celebrating the end of the semester. There was… probably a drunk driver, swerving in front of her on the windy highway overlooking the Pacific coast. The car had spun out, and she had… _Oh God. I crashed. Off the edge of the cliff. Am I dead? Shouldn’t I be in a hospital if I’m not? I feel… Surprisingly okay. The fuck?_ Wincing at the stiffness in her muscles, Kiyone pushed herself up to sit, glancing about the dim room. 

It definitely wasn’t anywhere near a sterilized, pristine hospital room. There was no antiseptic smell, no white walls or beeping machines. No IV stuck in her arm. The walls were wooden, faded to a dirty gray from age and lack of cleaning, the floor even murkier. There was a small roughly hewn table on the other side of the room, two rickety chairs placed at the side. A metal slab lay propped up against a table leg. _It kinda looks like a shield, like from that ren faire Allison took me to._ The bed she lay on was basically a burlap sack stuffed full of hay, a slight moldy smell coming from the grasses. _Was I kidnapped? Am I gonna get murdered? Oh fucking hell. This is just perfect._

The lock on the door clicked, as someone was fiddling with a key on the other side. Frantically, Kiyone cast her eyes about, trying to find something she could use a weapon. There was the chair, and the shield. Sprinting across the room, she hefted the metal up, staggering under the weight. _Better than nothing._ The door swung open.

A tall man stood there, blinking at her, a tray of what she assumed was food in his hands, a hunk of bread hanging from his mouth. “Uh, hi,” he mumbled from around the roll. She merely glared at him in response. “Gonna put this down,” he motioned to the table. Backing away slowly, she watched as he crossed the room, setting the tray of food on the rough surface. “There. Hi, I’m Alistair. I, um, found you. Unconscious off the main road leading to Kirkwall. Are you from here? Do you have family? Are you hungry?”

She lowered the shield, hoping that since he brought her food he wasn’t going to kill her since she realized she was, in fact, ravenous, wincing at the strain in her arms. “Kirkwall? The fuck is that? Do you know how far I am from the PCH?”

“PCH?” he stared her, puzzled.

“Pacific Coast Highway? The highway up on the cliff that I fell from? Big long road that runs up from San Diego all the way up the coast of Cali? California? United States America? Nothing? Jesus Christ,” she sat down on the bed. “How do you not know any of this?”

“Well,” he sheepishly rubbed his head, “I know I’m not the most intelligent person, but maybe I could find you a map?”

“Map. Maps are good,” she groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “Oh, um, thanks, by the way. For saving me. I figured I would be a lot more banged up than I am.”

“I took you to a healer,” he offered. “Patched you right up.”

Kiyone looked at him then, really looked at him. He was handsome. Tall and broad, blue eyes the color of a winter’s sky, ruggedly defined jawline, with strawberry blonde hair that leaned more towards ginger in the candlelight. _Candlelight? Is the power out?_ Glancing up, she couldn’t see any light fixtures or switches in the room. “Thanks for that. You wouldn’t happen to have a cell phone, would you?” He blinked at her. “Or know where a landline is?” Another blink. “Right. So. Well.” She stared at the wall opposite her, trying to figure out how to escape this place. He was obviously crazy, or more probable, lying to her, trying to keep her from making contact. She needed to escape.

“If you want to leave, you can,” he smiled hesitantly. “I just brought you here so you could have a safe place to wake up in.” _Oh._ “The city really isn’t all too safe, but I could take you somewhere? The chantry, maybe?”

“Chantry?” It was her turn to be lost.

“The Chantry? House of the Maker? His Bride, Andraste?” She blinked in a mirror image of his earlier actions. “Well. This is awkward.” He grinned. “Must’ve hit you head harder than I thought.”

“Let’s just go,” she muttered, pausing to take the other bread roll from the table. “Thanks for the food, Alistair.”

“What’s your name?”

“Oh!” She blushed, embarrassed at her lack of manners. “Kiyone. Kiyone Myeong, nice to meet you.” _Crazy man,_ she added in her head.

“Rather unusual name,” Alistair cocked his head to one side, opening the door to let her pass through.

“Korean Japanese,” she shrugged. “You can call me Ki.”

“Key?” Together the descended into the Hanged Man’s main room, the raucous noise of shouts and jeers and conversation coupled with the acrid tang of ale and liquor rising up to meet them.

“Who’s yer friend, Alistair?” one of the patrons called out.

“Hey girl, wanna find out how a real man does it?” another cackled.

His ears burning red, Alistair muttered, “Ignore him.” Kiyone didn’t hear him. She was too busy staring at the people, watching a short man drunkenly arm wrestle another slender person, who had pointed ears. _Like a fucking elf. Did I wander into some alternate reality? A LARP convention? This is insane. I’ve got to get out of this fun house._ She practically bolted out of the front door, sighing as the cool night air washed over her skin. Then she saw it.

“Alistair.” Her voice was cool, utterly devoid of emotion, only her wide eyes betraying any hint of turmoil. “There are two moons in the sky.”

“Uh?” he glanced up. “Yes? Big one is Idriel, little one is Satina. Have you… never seen them?”

“There’s only one moon where I come from.” Kiyone turned to face him, her entire body trembling now. “Alistair,” she whispered, “Where am I?”

“You’re in Kirkwall,” he extended a hand, feeling her fingers clench his tightly, almost painfully, as if she were assuring herself that he was real. “In the southern Free Marches.”

“That is… a country?”

“Well, a collection of city-states mostly. Ferelden,” he said the word distastefully, “Is a country to the south. Orlais is west of it. Rivain and Antiva are northeast of us, and Nevarra to the west.”

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” she groaned, sinking to her knees. “Fuck. I’m not even on Earth anymore. How did I get here?”

“No idea,” he crouched beside her. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know!” she cried. “I don’t know anything, not about this world, or what I can do, or where I”ll go, or…” she burst into tears for the first time in years. Kiyone hated crying. It never did her any good, just a show of weakness, like her father told her. But what else was there for her to do right now? She was alone, in this godforsaken place, no money, no home, no friends.

“You could stay with me. If you wanted to. No pressure or anything, I promise I won’t try anything or, uh…” he ducked his gaze away. “Or I could take you to the Chantry. The sisters there would probably take you in.”

Wiping her tears on her sleeve, she sniffed. “Is that like a church or something?”

“More or less.”

Sighing, she turned to look at him. “Why are you helping me? What do you get out of this?”

“Nothing,” he held his hands up defensively. “I just… I know what it’s like to be in a foreign place, not knowing a single soul, no place to call home. So I want to help. That’s all.” Kiyone stared at him for several minutes. _Why does he have to be cute? What else can I do? Can I take him if he tried anything?_ She eyed his large bulk, his muscles visible even under his armor. _Probably not. But it’s either him or go stay with what sounds like nuns. Ugh._

“I think I’d rather stay with you, if that’s ok,” she muttered. Alistair positively beamed at her.

“Of course. Hungry? Food might be a little cold by now, but better than nothing.” Nodding, she took his hand, feeling the strength in his muscles as he hauled her to her feet with minimal effort. _Ooh, tingly._

“Who’s your friend, Alistair? Have you brought me a new toy?” A stunning dark haired and swarthy woman leaned against the edge of the bar, grinning at them both. Her ample cleavage was pressed up by her cream corset tunic thing, falling just past her hips with slits up to her waist. Kiyone was aware that she was gaping, but it really couldn’t be helped. “Ooh, I think she likes me.”

“You think everyone likes you,” Alistair snorted. “Kiyone, this is Isabela.”

“Hey! You like me. Speaking of which,” the sultry pirate winked, amusing herself with the shy man’s blushes and stammers. _Of course he’s with her_ , Kiyone thought glumly. _Who wouldn’t want to be with her? Hell, I want to be with her._

“Not tonight, Isabela,” Alistair muttered. “We’ve got… stuff to take care of.”

Kiyone raised an eyebrow at him, Isabela throwing her head back, laughing. “I bet you do, handsome. Don’t let me keep you, then.”

“Girlfriend?” she asked nonchalantly as they ascended the sticky stairs to his room.

“Friend,” he replied firmly. “With… occasional benefits.”

“Mm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Huh?” she turned at his defensive tone. “Nothing, Alistair. She’s gorgeous, that’s all.”

 _This is weird_ , Alistair thought as they walked back inside his dingy rented room. _If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was jealous. But she can’t be_. “So… tell me about yourself.”

Sitting gingerly in the wobbly chair, she shrugged. “Not much to tell. I’m 22. I live in the city, go to college, working as a bartender slash server on the side. Few friends that I don’t see nearly enough because I’m always working or studying. No family really to speak of. Not many people to miss me now that I’m…” a few tears slid down her cheek, splashing against the dark wood. “God. They’re all gonna think I’m dead. My parents, and Allison, and Eric and-” a wail broke free from her throat as the shock finally caught up with her. Anguished, heaving sobs wracked her small frame. Alistair stared, unsure of what to do. _Comfort, her right? She seems feisty. Would she punch me if I tried to hug her?_ Shifting awkwardly, he shuffled over to her and patted her on the back. Kiyone flung herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck as she continued to bawl into his armor. His arms tightened around her, murmuring in a low, soothing voice.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright. I’ve got you. We’ll figure this out, okay? I won’t let you go through this alone. I’m here for you.”

“I don’t even have a job here,” she hiccuped, sniffling. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You could work with me?” he suggested. “Always a place for another mercenary.”

“Fighting? I guess, although I’m not very good at it. It’s been years since I took lessons,” her cries finally ceased, allowing herself to rest for just a moment in his arms. His warm, strong, broad arms. _Stop that. He’s just being nice to you_ , she chided herself.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow. For now, get some sleep.” With an encouraging smile, he lightly shoved her towards the bed, pulling out his travel bed roll on the floor.

“You’re not gonna sleep there, are you?”

“I’ve slept worse places,” he chuckled. “Deep Roads for one. Crumbling temples. Snowbanks. Mud. This is heaven compared to that.”

“Still,” she wrinkled her nose, wiggling under the scratchy blanket. “I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed. Sleep up here.”

“With you?” he didn’t mean to squeak, he meant to ask in a normal, even tone voice, but it was what it was. It wasn’t like he was an innocent anymore. Being exiled had a way of stripping his soul free of his previous ties and inhibitions, so when he came to the Free Marches to start over, he really started over. But none of his dalliances were ever anything serious. He couldn’t do serious again. Not after…

“I won’t jump you,” she rolled her eyes. “Just sleep, Alistair.”

“Um, right.” Limbs jerking, he lurched over to the bed, pausing to stack his armor neatly on the side table. Kiyone tried not to drool, watching his muscles flex underneath his thin cotton shirt. And she definitely wasn’t checking his pants for evidence of his... assets. Pulling the blanket over himself, Alistair laid stiffly on his back. “Goodnight, Ki.”

“Night, Alistair. Thanks again for… everything.”

“Of course,” he softly replied. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiyone is pronounce "Key- yone-eh", in case anyone was wondering.


	2. Chapter 2

The clanking of metal against wood stirred her from her restless sleep as Alistair walked in, banging his sword against the doorframe. “Bloody hell,” he swore. “Kiyone! I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘S fine,” she mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Almost midday. Breakfast?” He held an apple and a fresh roll out to her. “I figured we’d go take a walk around town, maybe find you some new clothes, see what you can do. Are you more comfortable with a sword? No, you’re tiny. Daggers, maybe? Or a bow?”

“Uhh,” she eyed his sharp blade. “I mean, I practiced kendo- it’s a Japanese form of swordplay- years ago, but I never used it in actual combat. And I’ve never held a metal sword.”

“Hmm. Daggers, maybe then. I wonder if Isabela would help? She’s a talented duelist.” Kiyone resisted the urge to scowl at the mention of the beautiful pirate, stuffing the rest of her food in her mouth. “She might know where we can find you some clothes, as well. Er, not that your clothes aren’t lovely, you just,” he gestured helplessly, “Stand out a bit. A lot, actually.”

“This doesn’t freak you out at all? That I’m from a different world?” she demanded.

“It’s… odd, I’ll admit. But I’ve seen so much in my travels that honestly? This is just another one of those things. Plus what you’re wearing, and the things you don’t know, how you reacted to the moons, for Maker’s sake. What other explanation is there?” he shrugged.

“Odd.” She stared at him. “I’m from another fucking world, and you think it’s ‘odd’. Okay. Let’s just… go. Let’s go. Isabela, right?” Alistair heard her following him out, muttering the word ‘odd’ and something that sounded suspiciously like ‘fucking nutjob crackhead’ as she shuffled along down the hall. Chuckling to himself, he stopped in front of another door identical to his and knocked. Again. And again.

Finally it swung open, the tip of a dagger shoving into his range of vision, stopping centimeters from his nose. “Oh, it’s just you. Fuck’s sake, Alistair. Do you know what time it is?”

“Noon?” he supplied helpfully, grinning at the rogue with her mussed curls, reeking of stale ale and blearily rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Whosit,” a light voice mumbled from the bed, blonde head peeking out, causing Kiyone to smile furtively to herself. _So they’re not together after all._

“Hello,” Alistair nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ve got a proposition for you, Isabela.” Her face perked up at that. “No, not that kind, you lecher.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Kiyone here wants to learn to fight, thinking of taking up the merc life. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind showing her a thing or two.”

“Oh, I’d definitely show her a thing or two,” the Rivaini purred.

“Can’t show me nothing I don’t know,” Kiyone, finding her voice, shot back, a wicked gleam in her eye. Isabela laughed, beyond delighted at the response.

“Oh, I like her. Sure, I’ve got time. Hawke was complaining about being bored recently too, so I’ll drag him along. It’ll be fun.”

“Do you know where I could get some clothes?” Kiyone asked hopefully. The rogue frowned at her unfamiliar attire.

“Yeah. I’ve got some stuff here, actually. Let me check.” She padded across to a large chest, kneeling before it and pulling out all sorts of clothes, men’s tunics, corsets, dresses, all flying around the room. “This should fit.” A ball of fabric landed at Kiyone’s feet. It was a pair of leather legging-type pants, a dark dusty blue tunic that would reach her upper thighs, and even a pair of soft, worn, animal skin boots. Alistair raised an eyebrow in question. “Souvenirs,” she grinned, throwing everything back in and slamming it shut. “Go on, make sure they fit.” Glancing at Alistair, who was now pointedly not looking at her, and then at the random blonde woman in Isabela’s bed, she shrugged, tugging her shirt over her head. “Ooh, that’s fancy,” Isabela poked her black lace bra. “Looks Orlesian.”

“Uh, sure,” Kiyone muttered. “It’s just a bra.”

“Alistair, look at this. Isn’t it pretty?”

“Yup,” he gulped, not looking. “Pretty.” Both women grinned at each other, the blonde elven woman- _It’s a real fucking elf, holy shit_ \- who was coincidentally naked, joining them. 

Kiyone finished pulling on the clothes, the pants just a tad too tight around her muscular thighs, but, “Holy shit, my ass looks fantastic in this. Alistair, look at it.” He looked, catching sight of her firm rear wiggling temptingly at him, plus the view of the nude elf, and swore under his breath, turning completely away and walking out the door.

“I’ll be out here when you’re done!” he called back, slamming it shut. All the women burst into hysterical laughter, clutching their bellies as they reveled in his embarrassment.

“Is he always like this?” Kiyone chuckled, wiping away a tear from her eye.

“Yup. Until you get him in bed. Then…” Isabela winked at her. “I’ll let you find out for yourself, assuming you haven’t already.”

“He was a perfect gentleman last night.”

“Frustrating, isn’t it? Ah, well. Hawke and I’ll catch you to you both on the Wounded Coast tomorrow morning, probably the safest spot to practice. Might bring some more friends along.”

“Thanks for this, Isabela,” Kiyone grinned.

The sultry woman leaned over to kiss her cheek, breathing into her ear, “Thank me later, sweetness.”

A tingle ran up her spine, neck flushing as she nodded, suddenly unable to respond. With a tiny wave to the blonde, who was also leering at her, she ran out of the room. “Sorry for teasing you, Alistair.”

“It’s okay,” he waved her away. “You’d think I’d be used to it, but old habits are hard to break.”

“Isabela said she and Hawke would meet us tomorrow morning, on the Wounded Coast.”

“That works,” he smiled at her. “Would you care for a tour of Kirkwall in the meantime?”

“Sure.”

***

Kirkwall was… disgusting. Dirty streets, buildings that were probably pretty once but were now covered in a thick layer of sea salt and grime, and the people, oh lord, the people. Where they were, in what Alistair called ‘Lowtown’, the people were matted, gaunt, looking at her with eyes dead to the world, starving for life. They were no more than walking corpses.

“It’s worse in Darktown,” he muttered. _Worse? How can it be worse than this?_ They reminded her of the myriads of homeless that lined the sidewalks in downtown LA. “So, tell me more about yourself?”

“What do you wanna know?”

“You said two names last night, Allison and- Eric?” he asked innocently, but she caught the slight emphasis on the male name.

“My best friends. I work with Eric, and Allison and I are in the same major.”

“Major?”

“Uh, field of studying. What I’m going to school with. It’s… don’t laugh, ok? My major is dance. Specifically musical theatre, but also ballet.” She waited for the inevitable laughing and the 'oh my god are you serious' looks she normally got.

“Dance? I don’t… I mean, the only dancers I know of here are… well, not like you.” Alistair groaned and buried his head in his hands. “I’m blushing again, aren’t I? Maker’s balls, I swear I’ve been red ever since meeting you. I would say I’m not normally like this, but maybe I am.”

Kiyone laughed, utterly charmed by this man. She was too used to the bros and cool dudes that roamed SoCal, trying to act like players and general scum. His shyness was refreshing. “I think it’s cute.”

“Me?” he squeaked again, fully aware that grown men should not be talking in that high of a pitch.

“Yup,” she winked at him. “Um, my kind of a dance is art, basically. There is a stage, and we tell a story through song and dance. Like a play? Do you have those here?” He nodded. “Same idea.”

“You sing? I would love to hear you,” he brightened up. “So… Eric is just a work friend?”

“Mmhmm. No boyfriend at the moment. You?”

“I have… friends who are boys, but I’m guessing that’s not what you’re referring to,” he remarked dryly. “But I’m not involved with anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. Nothing beyond a few… physical liasons, at least.”

“Like Isabela?” she grinned. “She’s gorgeous. I wouldn’t mind a night with her.”

“You- her-,” he gaped. “Maker. That image is going to torture me for the rest of my life.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type who would mind sharing,” her eyes appraised him, mischief sparkling in her eye.

Suddenly, Alistair grabbed her wrist and swung her into a side alley, pressing her against the rough wall with his body, pinning her hands above her head. “Are you just teasing me?” he muttered, glaring at her face, “Just trying to get a rise out of me? Or is there something else you want?”

“I-” her almond shaped dark brown eyes, almost black, widened as desire pooled in her belly. Fighting a whimper, her hips involuntarily twitched, Alistair hissing as he ground his already hardened bulge against her.

“Is this what you want?” His voice was dark and low, completely different from his usual lighthearted, sarcastic tone. 

“Yes,” she whispered, helpless against his broad chest, her core throbbing for his attention.

“Hmmm,” a calloused hand traced down the side of her cheek, stroking her straight, silky black hair. “Good to know.” A cocky grin was planted on his cheeks as he released her, conspicuously adjusting himself within his trousers.

Eyes narrowing, Kiyone spluttered, “You- What-”

Alistair laughed, his impish nature shining through. “Later, sweetling. Come on, our tour isn’t done. Hightown is next.”

***

Wincing, she followed the man into the now familiar tavern, sitting down at a table he indicated. “Blisters?” he set down a foaming tankard of ale in front of her.

“Yeah. These boots aren’t the most comfortable thing in the world, the fit isn’t quite right. Not that I’m complaining, but- Fuck, what is this, piss?”

“You’ll find no better ale in Kirkwall,” a gravelly voice chuckled from behind. “You going to introduce us, Alistair?”

“Varric, Kiyone, Kiyone, dwarf,” he waved. “Happy? Don’t listen to a word he says, he’s a notorious storyteller and general rogue.”

“You wound me,” the stocky dwarf grinned, hand over his heart. “So, Kiyone? Interesting name. Where you from?”

“Uhhh,” she glanced at Alistair who shrugged. “Far. Far, far away.”

“Don’t want to talk about it, gotcha. Are you staying with Alistair?” She expected the man to blush as he had so many times earlier today, but he didn’t, instead regarding her with those icy blue eyes, a slight smirk on his lips.

“She is.” The promise in his voice sent a shudder through her body. _The hell am I getting myself into? You can’t just jump into bed with a stranger in another fucking world. What if he’s not even human? What if they reproduce by… spores or some shit? Stop being ridiculous, you felt his package earlier. Oooh. Yep. Never mind. Carry on, brain._

Clearing her throat, she averted her gaze. “I am.”

“Playing nice with my new friend?” Isabela sauntered up, sprawling her voluptuous figure over an empty seat. “You want to come tomorrow, Varric? Hawke and I are going to teach this beauty how to duel wield. Fenris, Merrill, and Anders are coming too.”

“Sounds like a party.”

“Right, tomorrow. I’m turning in,” Alistair stood up abruptly. “Coming, Kiyone?”

“Uh, sure? It was nice meeting you all,” she waved, turning to glare at the handsome man who was tugging her out of the room. “Fuck, Alistair? Kinda rude to blow off your friends.”

“Probably,” he amiably agreed, pulling her into his room. “Honestly?” He backed her against the door, smirking as her pupils instantly widened with lust and she gasped, “I got a bit jealous at the way Isabela was looking at you. While time with her does sound… fun, I rather want you all to myself tonight.” His lips softly kissed their way up her smooth throat. “Forgive me?”

“I, ah-” Kiyone felt her breath hitch and a tiny moan escape her as he nibbled on her earlobe. “Yes.”

“Good.” Pulling back, he began the tedious process of removing his armor, unfastening each piece and stacking it on a stand in a corner of the room, his gaze trained on hers, watching her squirm. As he pulled off his shirt, she felt a sudden flood of wetness between her thighs, rubbing them together as she stared at his rippling, broad chest, lightly covered with coarse dark golden hairs, the dips of his abs casting shadows on each other. He chuckled at her hungry gaze, “Like what you see?” It was all she could do to merely nod, licking her lips. He hissed in a sharp breath, watching her wet tongue flick along her skin. “Take off your clothes.” Stumbling away from the door, she hastened to obey, ripping her borrowed shirt over her head and shoving the leggings off, standing only in her lacy black bra and thanking God she wore her matching underwear with it. “She was right. This is very pretty,” he reached up to cup her heavy breasts, rubbing little circles around the tight peaks encased within, “But it’d be better off.”

Alistair watched her eyes flutter back as he teased her nipples, wanting desperately to taste her skin. His hands fumbled at her back, feeling for laces, but there were none. “Erm…” She giggled. He could feel his face heating. 

“Here, let me.” With a deft flick of her fingers, the strange garment easily pulled free, her matching smalls following suit. Throat dry, he attempted to swallow a few times before wrapping his arms around her waist and hauling her over to the bed, throwing her down with a predator’s gaze trained on her figure.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, capturing her lips in his own, moaning at the taste of her. Ale and the stew they had for supper, but underneath, a hint of strawberries and skin. He wanted more. So he set about devouring her flesh, plundering her mouth with his tongue, teasing out throaty moans from her chest, relishing in the feel of her softness underneath him, her silky hands touching him everywhere she could reach. Her breasts tasted better than he imagined, his tongue running over the pebbled flesh, her hands tangled in his hair as she whispered his name into the darkness. One large hand found her center, the heat scalding his flesh, already soaking wet and his teeth nibbled at her stiff peaks. “You are so tight,” his finger slid inside of her, delighting as she cried out, back arching as his thumb found her throbbing clit.

“Alistair! Please,” she groaned, her hands tightening in his hair and yanking sharply. The unexpected pain sent a jolt straight to his member, forcing a growl from his chest as he pounced on top of her.

“Minx. The things I want to do to you,” he grinned as he slipped his trousers off, finally bared to her gaze. 

_Holy fucking shit, he’s-_ “Whoa.” Alistair shifted nervously.

“Is that a good whoa or a whoa ugh is that all?”

“Jesus, Alistair, really? You’re fucking huge,” she breathed, slightly apprehensive at the vision he presented. A smug grin lit up his face as he bent over to kiss her again, humming approvingly at her whimpers, dragging his swollen head along her slit, coating himself in her fluids.

“I’ll go slow.”

“You better or I’m gonna rip in two,” she glared. His laugh turned to a sharp hiss as he pressed leisurely inside of her, feeling her walls contract and tense around the intrusion. Sweat beaded his brow as he fought for control, resisting the urge to slam himself deep within, wanting, needing to hear her scream his name as she came. “Fuck, Ali…” Her nails dug into his biceps, panting as he slid all the way in. “Oh, gods. This is… fuuuck.” 

“Can I move?” he pleaded, feeling his restraint start to crumble as she pulsed around him. At her nod, Alistair pumped himself in and out a few times, testing out his rhythm as her muscles finally relaxed, watching wide eyed as her small fingers reached up to toy with her breasts, rubbing them together, pinching her nipples. “Maker, Kiyone. You’re going to kill me, love.” Her low chuckle made his spine tingle, hips snapping back to plunge all the way in, relishing her broken groan. He wasn’t going to last long like this, the pleasure already tightening in his balls as they slapped against her ass. Licking his thumb, he moaned approvingly at the taste of her still on his skin, pressing it to her swollen pearl, alternating between slow and fast circles and little flicks. “I need you to come for me. Can you do that? I’m not going to last much longer,” he gasped, feeling the spasms begin in her sheath.

Keening as he hit a particular sensitive spot, she tilted her hips up so he could get a deeper angle, knocking his hand away as she took over pleasuring herself. “Right there,” she begged, “Oh, Alistair, don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m- aaahh!” Arching her back, Kiyone pressed her head back into the pillow, screaming as her orgasm flooded her senses, lighting her nerves up, feeling his tip hitting her at the perfect location over and over again, nails tearing into his back as she fought to stay grounded.

He barely pulled out in time, body shuddering as the last of her tremors died away, spurting thick ropes of his hot seed across her smooth belly. “Fuck,” he groaned, collapsing on the bed to her side. “That was- Maker’s breath.”

“Mmmm,” she hummed contentedly. “You made a mess.” Her pleased tone and sparkling eyes reassured his sudden fear that she was upset. “See?” A finger, still glistening from her own juices, dipped down into the puddle on her flat stomach, swiping a dollop of his fluids into her mouth, popping the clean digit out with an obscene pop. Alistair just grunted, transfixed at the sight.

“You’re an evil, evil woman.”

“You have no idea,” she whispered in his ear, smirking at the gooseflesh that littered his arms. She reached over the bed to grab his shirt, cleaning them both off before snuggling against him. Alistair jolted in surprise. Usually, after his trysts, either he or the woman left or simply fell asleep. Cuddling was new, something he had not experienced in years, purposely avoiding such sweet and tender moments. But this tiny woman, she was different somehow. He felt a pang at the thought of her leaving, walking out of his life, never to be seen again. She was beautiful, sarcastic, crude, completely lacking knowledge of even the simplest things, and irresistible. _Shit. It’s already too late_ , he thought wistfully, wrapping his arms around her soft body, pressing a kiss to her silky hair. “G’night, Ali.”

“Sleep well, Ki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT.


	3. Chapter 3

The scenery around Kirkwall really wasn’t much better than the city itself, she decided. The ground was sparse, rocky, and devoid of anything lush or flowery. In a haunted, barren sort of way, it was rather intriguing at least. 

“So, there are four species here? Humans, elves, dwarves, and Qunari?”

Alistair nodded. “Humans live above ground everywhere, dwarves are split. Some live underground following tradition and their king, while others live above ground. Traditionally, they’re merchants and smiths. Best work you can find. Elves live alongside the humans, but there’s a lot of… tension.”

“They keep us as slaves,” a handsome white hair elf scowled in a rumbling voice.

“That’s shit,” Kiyone frowned. “Fucking slavery is legal here?”

The one called Fenris was slightly mollified at her reaction. “Only legally in Tevinter.”

“And Qunari are-”

“Fucking tools,” Isabela scowled, the man they called Hawke patting her on the head. He was tall and broad, although not as much as Alistair, dressed in charcoal armor with wild, messy black hair and piercing bright blue eyes. 

“So you both are… rogues? Is that the right word?”

“Varric is as well,” Hawke motioned at the dwarf. “We specialize in stealth and speed over brute force. And guys like your pretty boy here and Fenris are warriors, using their big strong muscles to pound shit into itty bitty pieces.” Alistair scowled at the man, moving to stand closer to Kiyone. “And Anders and Merrill are mages.”

“Mages. As in magic?” she stared at the tiny elven woman with the dark tattoos on her face and unnaturally large eyes and the handsome blond haired man in a dress with the perpetually wistful face.

“You don’t have magic where you’re from?” Isabela cocked her head at the woman.

“Uhh, our magicians pull bunnies out of hats and birds from blankets. I’m gonna guess you guys don’t do the same?”

“No bunnies,” Merrill sighed. “Although that would be lovely. We do this,” a tiny flame flickered in her hand, immediately dousing itself as Kiyone screamed and jumped. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-”

“Do that again,” she demanded breathlessly, leaning in closer.

Chuckling, Anders conjured a ball of ice and tossed it at her. Squealing, she caught it, spinning it around in her hands inspecting it. “It’s ice. It’s really goddamn ice, and you just snapped your fingers and boom, magic ice.” Breaking off a piece, she popped it in her mouth. “Even tastes like normal ice.”

“It is normal ice,” the mage drawled. 

“Shit. You really aren’t from here,” Varric shook his head.

Alistair grinned, “Told you so. Here looks like a good place, right?” They stopped in a clearing, firmly packed sand providing a decent base to work on, the sound of ocean waves crashing in the distance.

“Here,” Hawke tossed her a set of blunted daggers from his pack. “We’ll start with these. Let me see your stance.” Frowning, she flipped her daggers around.

“Which way do I hold them? Like this? Or this?”

“Start with blades up, for slashing.” Nodding, she widened her legs, crouching low into her quads. “Good. Now come at me.” Hawke expected her to be tentative as most people unfamiliar with fighting would be. Instead, she lunged herself at at him, gracefully spinning away and ducking under his swings, a smirk on her lips as she avoided his daggers. Grunting to himself, he rolled to the side, lashing out his fist to connect his pommel with the back of her knee, sending her cursing to the ground. “Not bad. Sure this is your first time?”

“With daggers, yes,” she wheezed. “I studied kendo when I was younger, although we used shikai, practice swords made from wood. It’s been at least twelve years though.”

“You move well,” Fenris noted. “Almost as if you were dancing.”

“I was,” she grinned, pushing herself up with a wince to elegantly pirouetting on one toe, bowing to the group. “Alright sensei, show me what you got.”

***

Merrill giggled at the exaggerated expression of bliss on Kiyone’s face as Anders poured healing magic into her battered body. “So good,” she moaned, Alistair’s breath turning slightly ragged at the memories that sound triggered. Isabela nudged him, winking. “I’m starving now.”

“Me, too,” Hawke sighed. “Let’s head back.” Watching Kiyone skip ahead of the group, Fenris shook his head.

“She’s awfully perky and well-adjusted for someone in a new, foreign world.”

“It’ll hit her eventually,” Varric frowned. “Probably come spilling out at once, at the worst opportune time.”

“Trouble up ahead,” Isabela hummed. “Raiders.”

Pulling Kiyone behind him, Alistair unsheathed his sword and muttered in a low voice brooking no argument, “Stay behind me, Ki. Do not put yourself in danger.”

“Yep,” she squeaked, a pit growing in her stomach as she realized these people were going to kill. With sharp, pointy knives and fire they conjured out of their ass. Not with guns, shooting from a safe distance away. With medieval weapons, getting up in their enemy’s face, looking them in the eyes as they stabbed the life out of them. Fuck this shit. And Alistair expected her to do this?

The raiders were on them in mere heartbeats, blades bared to the sky as they charged, screaming rage. _They don’t even stop to say hi?! Just run in, killing every person they see?!\_ Kiyone ducked behind a rock at the back, staring in horror at the carnage, the sweet, giggly Merrill controlling large, twisting vines that were strangling one bandit, Fenris hacking another’s head off, _okay, I could see him doing that anyways_ , Isabela leaping onto another’s back, fiercely shoving her dagger up into his ribcage, and Alistair, her sweet Alistair, roaring as he viciously impaled a man on his sword, ripping it out with a wet squelch. She was going to be sick, she was-

“Gotcha!” A foul breath blew into her face as thick arms roughly grabbed her from behind. “Defenseless, ain’t ya?” Desperately, she tried to recall her defense training, but he was too big and she was too short. She couldn’t reach his nose or get a good angle to kick him in his balls. “Feisty one. Gonna have fun with you, girlie.” Dread settled over her heart as she realized what he had planned for her, panic consuming every conscious thought as she fought to get away.

“NO!” a burst of energy flowed through her body, her senses heightening as she suddenly heard and saw everything clearer. Fire erupted from her hands, shoving the raider back, incinerating his leather armor, licking across his skin. Screaming, he rolled around desperately, stilling as a crossbolt landed squarely in his chest.

“Ki? You’re a mage?”

The ground rose up to meet her, exhausting wracking her body as the anxiety and rush of battle left her. What had she done? _Killed a man, with fire. Fucking fire. Magic. I’m a fucking sorcerer. How the hell did I do that?_

“Beats me,” Alistair shrugged, Kiyone realizing she had whispered that last question aloud. “Anders?”

The mage regarded her, something akin to sadness in his honeyed eyes. “You’ll need training, Kiyone. There’s a lot more to being a mage than just casting. There’s a lot of… danger. I can help.”

“Me too!” Merrill piped up. “That was supposed to be my function, in the clan, when I become Keeper. If I become Keeper,” she added glumly. 

“Magic. Fucking bitch.” Sprawled on her back on the ground, she stared at the colorless sky, black hair fanned out around her. “This place is fucking ridiculous.”

“It’ll grow on you,” Varric smiled. “Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry now, too.”

Leaning over with an extended hand, Alistair helped her up. “You alright?”

“No,” she grumbled. “How would you feel if you suddenly could shoot fire out of your eyes?”

“That… is not how it works, but I get your point,” he hesitantly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, sighing gratefully as she leaned against him. “I’d be pretty scared. And angry. Mostly scared. Are you scared?”

“Terrified,” she shivered. “Alistair, what if I hurt someone?”

“That’s why you need training, from Anders and Merrill.”

“So there’s not like, a school or something that I could learn at?”

“No,” everyone shouted at the same time, Ander’s eyes glowing a bright blue for a split second. 

“No,” the mage firmly said. “You will not go to a Circle. I’ll explain everything tonight. Your place, Hawke?”

“Sure. Bodahn and Orana always love the company.”

***

Kiyone stared at them in horror, fear freezing her chest into a solid block of ice as she absorbed their words. “If I’m caught practicing magic, I’ll get sent to a circle and be locked up forever? And if I somehow avoid capture for the rest of my life, I still run the risk of being taken over by a demon? A real, actual demon? And lose myself to it?”

“That’s the gist of it. Ow! What?” Fenris rubbed his arm from where Isabela had punched him.

 _My hands. They don’t even look different. But I can feel it now. The power humming deep inside of my veins, calling out for me to use it. And I’m supposed to hide this from the rest of the world, like it’s a dirty shameful secret, because if I ever lose control, I’m going to turn into a monster and kill everyone. Fuck. This. Place._ Bolting off the sofa, Kiyone sprinted for the front door of Hawke’s mansion, suddenly filled with a desperate need to get away from all of them, why were they helping her anyways? She was dangerous, out of control, so, so broken.

“Ki!” Heavy footsteps charged after her. “Ki, don’t go, please.” Alistair’s tone was soft, pleading, enough to make her stop and whirl around.

“Alistair. I don’t want to hurt you,” she sobbed. “Or anyone else. I can’t do this, I can’t, I just want to go home.” Falling into his arms, all of her terror and anguish and hopelessness poured out, heartrending wails echoing through the dark streets of Hightown, the few people that were outside hurrying past the tearful woman, unwilling to get involved. 

“I wish I could find a way to send you back,” he murmured, unsure if he was telling the truth or not. “But you can do this. You’re strong. Determined. I have faith in you.”

“I’m not strong,” she whispered so softly, Alistair had to strain to hear her. “I’m weak. I just hide it. The demons are real here. They’re not in my mind, in my soul, they’re here and waiting for me to slip, I know it.”

“What?” He paled at her talk of demons.

“They were just figurative back home. Remnants of him. But now…”

“Him?” Glancing down, he tried to hold her gaze, but her eyes were so empty and dull, it was hard to look at her. “Him who?”

“He… My first love. I was 16. I was so head over heels for him, and he with me, as only teenagers can be, you know?” Gulping, he nodded. He did know. “At first it was okay. He was so sweet, considerate, always thinking of little ways to make me smile. Then the jealousy started. ‘Why were you smiling at him? Are you fucking him? Why did you give him your notes from class? What’s he expecting in return?’” She shuddered, voice still hoarse. “It got worse. To the point I couldn’t even look out into a crowd, because he would accuse me of ogling other guys. He had me convinced all our problems were my fault. That my parents and friends, who were trying to get me to see what he was doing to me, that they were the enemy. I quit hanging out with all of my friends. Did nothing besides school, work, and spend time with him. It was never enough. I was never enough. But I loved him so much, and love was supposed to be hard, right? He asked me to marry him. I wanted to say no. But I was too scared. So I pretended like I was happy and I said yes. The… physical violence didn’t take long to start after that. And yet I kept making excuses. It was my fault I burned supper, I deserved it. I stared at the man we passed on the street’s shirt a bit too long, forgive me. I didn’t have any friends left. I pushed my family away. I was so… fucked up, hating my life, and the worst part? I knew it was wrong. I knew that what he was doing to me was his shit, not mine. But I couldn’t bring myself to break up with him. I was so scared he would hurt himself, and blame that on me, like he said he would. So I tried to kill myself. I got drunk and took… poison. Lay down to sleep. I woke up in the hospital, surrounded by my parents and friends I thought hated me. I finally ended things with him, but… The scars, they never really go away. I’m still scared all the time. I’m still weak, underneath all the crap I talk. I still believe all the things he told me, that I’m worthless and ugly and that no one will ever want me again. Every now and then, I see someone that looks like him or hear someone that talks like him and I freeze. If a demon comes to me wearing his face, I’d probably give in based on fear alone. I can’t do this, Alistair.” 

Her tears had stopped, quavering voice replaced by a numb monotone as she spilled out her darkest secrets. _Why am I telling him all this anyways? He’s pretty much still a fucking stranger_. Warm, soft lips descended on hers. They spoke of a promise to stand beside her, admiration in her power of will, an apology for all she had gone through, and faith, utter and complete belief in her abilities to fight anything that would come her way. “I know what’s it like to hit rockbottom, feeling like you have no way out,” he whispered into her mouth, pausing to kiss her again. “And I know how much strength it takes to claw your way out of that hole. It’s not even really living, for awhile, is it? It’s just existing, trying to survive, day by day, unable to feel or react, like you’re just reduced to some mindless drone. But you, you are the first thing I have found since then that makes me want to feel again. You make me smile and laugh. You make me happy. And I want to do that for you. We’ll get through this together, I promise. I’ll help as best I can. I used to be a templar, I can nullify your magic if you start losing control. I won’t let you hurt me, or anyone.”

“Promise?” Her eyes shone in the moonlight, tears still glimmering in the pale glow.

“Promise,” he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, caressing her face, leaning over to press tiny kisses to her freckles.

She frowned at him, cocking her head to the side. “You went through the same thing as me?”

“Not the exact same thing,” he sighed. “You told me your story, so I guess it’s only fair if you know my dirty secrets, hmm? My last name is Theirin. Aaaaand that means nothing to you,” Alistair chuckled, hoping he would not regret his next words.. “My father was King Maric, of Ferelden.” Holding his breath, he waited to see her reaction, but she merely just watched him with the same, patient expression. “I was his bastard son, raised in the Chantry and recruited to the Grey Wardens, by Duncan. Duncan was… the closest thing I had to a father. And he was murdered, along with my half-brother, King Cailan, during the Blight.” The anger was palpable in his voice, still fuming after all these years. “And the fucking Hero of Ferelden, the woman I loved and who supposedly loved me, let their murderer join our ranks. The man who murdered every single Ferelden Warden. It was a noble Order, tasked with defending the world, saving it from the darkspawn. And she cheapened their legacy by allowing him to serve alongside their names. The Queen banished me from my homeland. I don’t know where the Hero,” he spat the word, “Is. But I came here, five years ago, determined to just drink myself into oblivion and kill myself that way. I succeeded, for about two years. Until Varric and Isabela dragged me out of my stupor, kicking my ass into trying to exist again. And then you come along, and suddenly I want to live.”

“I don’t know if I can give you what you want, Alistair,” Kiyone mumbled. “I’m-”

“To hell with what I want. I want to give you what you need first. We’ll worry about the rest later, hmm?” He kissed her forehead. “Whatever you need, I’m right here.”

“And if it’s you I need?” Voice dropping an octave, he felt the stab of desire shoot through his body.

“Then you have me. Just… if you plan on breaking my heart or killing someone I like, let me know first, yeah?” A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled out of her.

“I can do that. Thank you, Ali.” Standing on her tiptoes, still not quite reaching him, she tugged down his head until their lips were able to meet again, a rising urgency and passion flooding them both, hands grasping her ass, arm wrapped around his back, panting into each other’s mouths, tongues swiping over teeth and swollen, soft skin.

“Let’s go say goodbye and go back to our room.” Her heart warmed at the idea of ‘their’ room. “We can start your training tomorrow.” Shyly, Alistair took her hand, cradling it in his own larger palm, raising it to his lips. “My lady. Shall we?” Silently she nodded, a sweet smile lighting up her face. “Come along, then.” 

Together they walked back inside, poking their heads in only to let the others know they were leaving. "I'm just tired, guys. A bit overwhelmed. We can start tomorrow, yeah?"

"Of course," Anders nodded. "Merrill and I can swing by the Hanged Man, a few hours before noon?"

"How about after noon?" Hawke snorted at Alistair, waggling his eyebrows at the couple. "Shut it, Hawke."

"After noon it is," the blonde mage grinned. 

The couple strolled through the dark streets leisurely, his arm wrapped comfortingly around her shoulders, Kiyone watching the light from the streetlamps play across the cobbled stones. Turning a corner, Alistair notice an almost imperceptible sigh breathing through her nose. "You ok?"

"Just thinking. Wondering what my friends are doing on the other side. I mean, am I dead there? Did I fall through a wormhole? Is my body there and this all just a figment of my imagination? I mean, what are the odds I fall right into the lap of a gorgeous, charming, warrior man in a cesspool of a city like this?"

"You think I'm gorgeous and charming?" He grinned widely at her.

Rolling her eyes, she glared up at him. "Is that all you got from that?"

"Pretty much," he replied, spinning her around until her chest was pressed to his. "I don't have any answers for you. I wish I did. But I thank the Maker that I was the one who found you. And I'm pretty sure I'm real. I mean, unless your imagination has the power to create entire lives and memories and stuff. Is that a common thing back where you're from?"

"Not particularly," she said dryly. "It's just- I mean, fuck. It's just too much. My mind is in overdrive right now, and I feel... lost."

"What can I do to help?" Alistair murmured, running his hands through her silky hair.

"Help me not think?"

With a wicked grin, he lowered his head to hers. "I can do that." Fingers tightening in his shirt, Kiyone moaned as he backed her up into a deserted alley, pressing her against the rough stone wall, lighting her skin on fire with each hot, wet kiss against her skin. One hand keeping her wrists tightly pinned above her head, he snuck his other into her loose trousers, letting out a hiss as he felt her arousal, already soaking through her smalls. "Fuck, Ki." He let her hands fall. "Do you want this? Out here? Right now?"

He pulled back to study her face, desire clouding his vision. With a smirk, she took advantage of his foggy state, spinning him around until he was the one backed up against the wall. "I do," she whispered into the crook of his neck. "But first, I want to taste."

Alistair swallowed, suddenly unable to speak. "Guh?" Breathing out a small giggle, her fingers dropped down to the laces of his trousers, tugging them open. "W-what are you doing?" She paused, halfway complete with pulling his smalls down.

"Do you not want me to?"

"Um, no," he squeaked. "I mean, I do, it's just..." His breaths were growing more shallow with every heartbeat. "No one has ever... you know."

Face slowly spreading into a lascivious grin, she dropped to her knees, yanking the rest of his pants to his knees. "If you want me to stop, say the word." A tiny nod was all he could manage before her mouth was on him and his head jerked back, hitting the wall so hard he saw stars.

" _Fuck_ ," all rational and conscious thought left him. His entire world narrowed to her tongue, swiping tentatively across his leaking cock, flicking at the edge between his shaft and head. She loved the taste of him, Kiyone decided. Slightly bitter with a salty tang and the underlying essence that was all him. Stretching her lips over his member, she slid her mouth down inch by inch, struggling to get as much of his impressive length in as possible, moaning as he twitched inside of her. It was too much and not enough for him, the hot, wetness of her mouth, the way her tongue teased the underside of his shaft, the pressure of her lips sucking around him, the vibrations her moans sent through his entire cock. "Ki, please," he begged, the tension growing faster than anything he had ever felt before.

"Hmm?" she hummed around him, forcing a groan out of his throat. Reaching down, he gripped her hair almost painfully tight. Gently but firmly, he held her head still as he fucked her mouth, pulling back for one moment to check if she was okay. Instead, her fingers dug into the firm flesh of his ass, spurring him on. It was impossible to stop. Elissa had never wanted to do this, despite all the times she made him go down on her. He had shrugged it off at the time, disappointed, but not willing to press the issue. And now he had Kiyone, this beautiful, sweet creature, willingly on her knees in front of him and- oh shit. His eyes locked with hers, mouth falling open as he drank in the sight of her. So obscene, so wanton, so... adoring. Soft fingers rose to caress his sack, twisting and palming them, pleasure shutting down his brain completely as she pressed right on his perineum.

"I-" he gasped, letting go of her head as his hands scrambled for purchase on the wall behind him, desperately trying to keep his balance. Balls tightening, Alistair tried to pull out but one of her hands kept him close to her, the other sliding up and down his cock in tandem with her sinful mouth, moaning all the while at the feel of him. It was too much. With a low cry, he reared back, staring sightlessly at the night sky, grunting as he emptied into her, filling her mouth with his creamy spend. Hissing, he felt her throat contract and his eyes widened as he realized she was swallowing it. "You-" With a final lick, ensuring she had cleaned him of every last drop of his seed, Kiyone let his cock go as she smiled up at him and stood up. He sagged against the wall, reaching up with a shaking arm to wipe at the corner of her mouth. "You missed a bit," he murmured huskily.

"Did I?" she leaned forward, swirling her tongue over the drop of his fluid on his finger.

"Fuck," he couldn't stop staring at her. "Come here." Willingly, she fell into his arms, Alistair groaning at the taste of him on her lips. "You are... thank you," he breathed. "That was amazing."

"Yeah?" She tilted her head back, a playful smirk on her face. "Imagine what I could do with a bed instead of a dirty alley."

He never moved so fast in his life. Yanking his pants back on, Alistair grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the alley, back onto the road. "Room. Now." Her laugh followed him down the street, bright and happy.


	4. Chapter 4

The days settled into a regular routine for the next several months. Alistair took more jobs than usual to cover expenses for supporting Kiyone, a fact that she lamented over and yet it secretly thrilled her, that he would do this for her. It wasn’t too bad, him being gone most days since every waking moment was devoted to training of some form or another. Every morning she met with Merrill or Anders, learning a combination of primal magic, discovering to her hesitant delight that fire was her strongest school, healing techniques, and nature spells along with alchemy. Afternoons were devoted to learning to wield her daggers and quarterstaff, Alistair insisting that she learn both. “Never too many ways to defend yourself,” he had declared. And evenings were scheduled to drink and play Wicked Grace in the tavern, losing pitifully while grousing over her new, numerous injuries. Anders had now refused to heal her unless she was seriously hurt, saying that she had the skills to do it herself. Sometimes she would get so fed up, exhausted from the day, that she’d just leave her arm bleeding or her ribs bruised. _Too much effort._

Sighing wearily, Kiyone sank into the hard wooden chair, soaking up the warmth from the fire. It wasn’t too cold outside, but she was still used to much warmer weather than this. _At least the winters are mild here. Not like the Ferelden winters Alistair told me about. Snowbanks as tall as my head. Blech._

“Want in this hand?”

“Fuck no, dwarf. I’ll watch,” she took a long drink of the lukewarm water, already used to the slightly stale, musty taste it had. Training with the mages was the best, because they could go up into the mountains and there were fresh springs up there, filled with cold, tasteless water. Anders mercilessly teased her over her fancy tastebuds, but Merrill understood, having never even stepped foot into a human city until four years ago. Together, they would fill as many skins as possible of the water, lumbering back to Kirkwall with their precious burden.

So engrossed in their game was she, that the door opening didn’t even register in her mind, until a low voice murmured in her ear, “Hello, beautiful. Miss me?”

“Yessss,” she giggled, turning around to kiss him. “You were gone forever that time. Three whole weeks,” Kiyone pouted, her dusky pink lips sticking out. Alistair leaned down to nip it, grinning at her.

“I know, I’m sorry. Next job won’t be as long, promise.”

“You two are sickening, ugh. Get a room,” Isabela threw a wooden marker at them both. 

Ducking the projectile, Kiyone stuck her tongue out. “Don’t mind if we do.” 

The couple fled up the stairs, completely oblivious to the knowing winks and catcalls that followed them, too wrapped up in each other to notice anything else besides the feel of skin on skin, infuriating layers of armor and clothing blocking them from the thing they sought the most. Sometimes, when they fell together, it was lazy and languid, drawing out each other’s pleasures for as long as they both could stand it, tempting and teasing with every little lick of the tongue, nibble of the teeth on flesh, and roll of the hips, stretching and sliding in just the perfect cadence of sweet torture. Other times, like tonight, it was fast and desperate, tearing off clothes, her wet tongue teasing his length, burying himself between her thighs, drowning with her taste on his tongue, her scent invading his senses as she screamed her end only for him to thrust deep inside her in one smooth push, hips pounding her into the bed frantically, shattering as he came, resting only for a few minutes before his Grey Warden stamina kicked in and they could do it all over again.

Only after four rounds of this were they finally sated, collapsing to the bed in a heap of tangled limbs, sweat, and sticky fluids. “I would sell a kidney right now for a bath. A real bath, in a deep tub, with scalding hot water,” she groaned, panting against his chest, drawing little swirls in his damp chest hair.

“Hawke probably wouldn’t mind if you used his one day,” Alistair sleepily replied. “Oh, I was wondering. He and Isabela said you were doing pretty well training. And Anders says you know enough now to defend yourself. How would you feel about coming with me on the next job? It’s a simple guard job, a warehouse by the docks. Only if you’re up to it.”

“Sure. I’d like to be useful eventually.”

“Oh, you’re plenty useful,” he teased, playfully poking her breasts, fascinated as always with they way they jiggled.

“You’re impossible.”

“It’s one of my more endearing qualities,” he quipped, cheering to himself as she laughed, dragging him close for a tender kiss.

“Go to sleep, Ali.”

***

Hawke had gifted her a new set of armor and daggers in honor of her first job, hardened leather strips in the shape of a flexible tunic that covered her torso to her thighs, plus extra pieces for her shoulders, upper arms, and calves. _No, brigandine, pauldrons, and greaves. I really need to learn the proper terms. Calf thingy only flies so far here, especially with my stubborn warrior._ The only metal pieces were her bracers, dark metal engraved with silvery white runes to give her more stamina and defense against heavier swords. The daggers were made of a shiny pale metal he called silverite, the edges honed to a wicked gleam, blades etched with similar symbols of protection as her bracers. Holding them up, Kiyone turned them both over and over in her hands, admiring the way the writing glimmered.

“Are you finishing preening or can we go?” Alistair chuckled, neatly sidestepping the kidskin gloves she threw at him.

“Hey, just because you enjoy clomping around in dirty armor all the time doesn’t mean I like to.” she teased. “I’m a girl, I enjoy looking pretty sometimes.”

Pulling her close, he murmured, “You’re always beautiful,” dropping a quick kiss to her mouth. This time, she didn’t refute his statement as she usually did, but merely patted his cheek instead, picking up her gloves off the floor, fiddling with her braid to make sure it was secure. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she sighed, grabbing her dagger belt and staff. Anders had found it for her, perfect for an apostate in this town. The wood was a dark red, so deep it was almost black, the focus stone encased within the wood at the top, serrated blade fastened to the bottom. Hooking it to her armor, she faced the door. “Let’s go.”

Swiftly, they walked out of the tavern, the chilly night breeze blowing her stupid hair into her face, Alistair smiling at her muttered curses and threats of chopping it off. She wouldn’t, he knew. Her hair was the one thing she loved about herself, his efforts to convince her otherwise still in the works. He was making progress, at least. 

The scent of fish and salt permeated the air around the docks, the dark hulls of the ships moored in the shallow waters gently rocking in the frigid waves. Tugging her to the right, he pulled her toward a nondescript door, nodding to the guard outside. “Alistair and Ki.” The other man motioned them inside, a grizzled old man, his long gray hair pulled up into a ponytail waving them over to join him and a group of assorted armored men and women.

“Just in time. The last of the mercs, yes? My shipments have been getting tampered with, crates broken open, things missing. Bolts of silks, spices, ores, pretty much everything I have, they want. I need it to stop, and I want the names or bodies of those responsible. Understood?” Saluting, the mercenaries gathered around in a circle, one particular scarred woman with a shaved head taking the lead.

“You two,” she pointed at Alistair and Kiyone, “Take the back door closest to the alley. Alright. Don’t fuck this up. Bonus for person who gives Lawrenson a name.” 

The hours dragged on that night, the warehouse and docks completely silent as the soldiers prowled around, low voices talking and laughing, a couple of lusty sighs and moans drifting through the building. Caught up in listening to Alistair’s tales of his childhood, she leaned against a dusty barrel, only to be struck with a sneezing fit. “Dammit!”

“Nervous?” Alistair was the picture of relaxed tension, the only clue that he wasn’t completely at ease the tick in his jaw and the sharpness of his icy gaze.

“A bit,” she bit her lip, rubbing her nose to free it of the dust. “Do you think something will happen tonight?”

“Maybe. Or maybe they know we’re here and will avoid it tonight. No way to tell,” he shrugged. 

Another hour passed. Kiyone could feel her eyelids starting to droop, not even Alistair’s incessant chatter able to keep her awake. “Ki! Hear that?” Immediately springing up, she listened. A faint scratching sound was outside the door. Silently, the couple moved into position, one on either side of the door, hidden by the shadows. They watched as men snuck in, right in front of their faces, more than likely gang members judging by the fact that they all wore a green bandana tied around their left arm. As the last one padded in, the pair trailed behind them, following until they were in a clearing, far enough from the door that escape was unlikely. Kiyone breathed, reaching for the Fade as her friends had taught her, and pulled it into a giant fireball, the flames stopping short of the crates along the wall. Screaming, the thugs dropped to the ground, trying to put out the flames, making them easy targets for the rogue and her warrior to finish off, leaving only one alive. “Hello,” Alistair hauled him up by the throat. “Care to give me a reason why you’re doing this?”

“The Undercuts don’t answer to nobody,” the man breathlessly cackled. The warrior’s large hands tightened, the raggedy man’s face turning a disturbing shade of purple. “Beaumont!” he gasped. “He’s the one who hired us.”

“You have my thanks.” With a swift slice of his blade, the thug fell to the dusty ground, blood staining the wood and dirt a dark red.

“Shit,” Kiyone breathed. “You just… shit.”

“I’m sorry,” Alistair said quietly, carefully watching her reaction. “It had to be done though.”

“I know, I just- I hate this city,” she mumbled, forcing her rising wave of nausea down. She looked up, suddenly wishing she were outside under the open sky instead of in here, where it reeked of body fluids and fear. “Dawn’s coming.”

“Let’s go tell Lawrenson we have a name.”

***

The pouch of gold tucked into his waistband made Alistair feel rather lighthearted as they walked back to the tavern, hand in hand. This much money, thanks to the bonus given to them, meant that he could do the smaller jobs around Kirkwall for awhile, forgoing the longer, but better paying jobs in favor of spending more time with Kiyone. Her face was still pensive as they strolled, staring up at the moons high in the sky.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

“Just thinking about death.”

“That’s rather morbid.”

“Yeah. It’s just so… common here. People lying dead in the gutter, killed by bandits, gangs, disease, hunger, a thousand other fucking things. It’s everywhere. In all my years back home, the only dead people I saw were at funerals, cleaned up, tucked into nice pine boxes ready for burial. It was so much more dignified. Killing people? Illegal. I mean, it still happened, but not like this. And now I’ve killed people. I should be screaming and sobbing, hating myself but I don’t. What does that say about me? Am I a monster, Alistair?”

“No, Ki.” His hands on her arms pulled her to a stop, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “You’re not a monster. You’re just a woman, trying to survive in this hellhole, like the rest of us.”

“Why do you stay here? Is the rest of the Free Marches worse?”

Shrugging, he looked down at her, only seeing curiosity in her almond shaped eyes. “Familiarity, I guess. And friends. Friends are nice to have and keep. I haven’t really had that, not since a long time ago. If you really want to go, we can.”

“Makes sense. No, I mean, I’m getting used to it here. And I would miss everyone else. Just wondering, Ali.”

“You were good tonight,” he let her go, returning her hand to its proper place in his. “You’ve improved a lot. I’d like to see you with your staff though. Spar tomorrow?”

“Ooh, you’re going down, Theirin,” she declared smugly, knocking on the door to the estate. Bodahn enthusiastically greeted them.

“Come in, come in. Messere Hawke is still asleep in his room, but the guest bath is free for you to use.”

“Bless you Bodahn,” Kiyone impulsively kissed Hawke’s manservant on his bearded cheek, before freezing and casting Alistair a guilty look. He just smiled at her and motioned up the stairs. 

“Shall we?” The tension melted off of her as she nodded, skipping ahead of him to the bath, letting out a quiet squeal as she realized it had running water. Impatiently, she stripped naked while pacing and bouncing on the balls of her feet, waiting for the copper tub to fill. Heating the water with her magic, she scrubbed the worst of the grime and blood off of her skin and hair outside the tub, rinsing it off with a bucket down the drain, before clambering in to the steaming bath.

“Oh sweet baby Jesus, this is fucking perfect,” she moaned, sinking down so that only her nose and up was visible. Grinning, Alistair finished rinsing himself off and slid in behind her, letting her rest against his chest. “I never want to leave this room. Ever, ever.”

“Um, I've been meaning to ask you." She felt his pounding heart beating a staccato against her back. "Would you maybe want to move? Find a place of our own? We could do it, you know, now that you’re working as well. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but…” he was glad she wasn’t facing him and his bright red face.

“Our own place?” she whispered.

“Mmhmm.” Alistair held his breath, waiting for her rejection.

“Yes. A thousand times yes. No more drunk people singing as they wander outside our door? No more ale soaked floorboards? No more sloppy fake sex noises through the thin walls? Yes yes yes yes.” Spinning around, her arms draped around her neck, giggling quietly as she peppered his face and neck with kisses, pausing to lick a slow path up the shell of his ear. Pleasure tore through his body from the simple gesture, his massive girth spring to instant life as she giggled her approval. “Shh, lover, don’t want to wake Hawke and Fenris,” she whispered, continuing her torturous assault on his sensitive skin, grinding against his erection. Growling at her teasing, he lifted her hips up and settled her over his waiting length, her fingers reaching behind to gently scrape her nails along his sack.

His hands shoved her down, splitting her open around his cock, a broken moan echoing through the bathing chamber. “Quiet, sweetling. They’ll hear you,” he grinned, leaning forward to capture a plump nipple in his teeth.

“Alistair, fuck…”

“That’s what I’m doing,” he smirked, finding a slow and steady rhythm, sighing in absolute bliss as she slowly unraveled around him, whimpering his name in his ears, rocking her swollen clit against him. It was perfect. She was perfect. Her laughter, gentle teasing, her fierce soul- it had brought him back to the land of the living, and he found himself suddenly wanting again. Dreaming about thing he had never dared to dream of before- a wife, a home, children. Could he even have children? Maker, he wanted to try, as long as it was with her. He wondered if she wanted those same things. A peaceful life, somewhere in the country, without any fighting. They could do that, couldn’t they? Stay here a few more years, save up some money. He had to know just one thing first. “Kiyone, I-” his pale blue eyes locked onto her dark brown orbs, and he saw. All of the love she had for him, swimming openly in the honeyed depths, written all over her face as she moved over him, felt in every touch, every caress of his scarred, muscled body. _Caution to the wind_. “I love you.”

A slow grin spread over her face, the brightness in her smile dawning like the sun after six years of thunderstorms, washing away all the pain and heartache and blood from his soul. “I love you, too, Alistair.”

A groan wracked his body as he thrust forcefully into her womb, his tip brushing deep within her. “Say it again, please.”

“I love you. So much, it scares me. So much, it hurts. But I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to leave you, lose you. Everything about you, your smile, your infuriating smugness, your stupid stubborn streak that’s a mile wide, the kind, generous man you are underneath the sarcasm- I love it. All of you.” Coming undone at her confession, his pace increased, his fingers bruising her skin as he pinned her in place, ravaging her body. Lightning sparked along her skin and through the water as her orgasm slammed into her unexpectedly, all thoughts of being quiet wiped from memory as she keened into his neck, biting and sucking the soft skin as she rode out her pleasure, feeling him come inside of her moments later, his cock pulsing against her still spasming walls, drawing his seed deep inside of her.

“Maker,” he panted, the electricity still tingling along his skin, feeling her flop against his chest and snuggle into him. “You love me.”

“Mmhmm,” she mumbled happily. “I do.”

“You know. We could leave here. Move out to the country, buy a little plot of land, a cottage,” he held his breath, chest pounding, rubbing her naked back in slow, firm circles.

“Sounds nice. Like a family.”

“Exactly like a family,” he agreed. “What do you say then? Save up for a few years or so? Maybe less, depending on what jobs we take.”

“Alistair,” she raised her face to gaze into his anxious expression. “That sounds like a dream. Can we really?”

“Be a family?” he grinned, head swimming with delirious happiness. "Where do you want to go?

“As long as I’m with you, I don’t care about the rest,” she kissed his lips, an achingly tender pang suffocating his heart.

“We should get out of the bath. You made a mess,” he peered over at the water on the floor.

“Me?” she glared at him indignantly. “I think not, ser knight. I’ll clean it up.” With a wave of her hands, the water instantly evaporated, her face smug with her accomplishment. Fluffing her now dry hair, she stepped out of the tub, pulling on the fresh clothes they had left here the day before, twirling in her delight. “Hungry, love?”

“Famished. Let’s go raid Hawke’s larder.”

“You both owe Hawke for waking him up,” a grumpy voice called from beyond the door. Swinging it open, Kiyone blushed at the sight of their host, trying to glare at the couple but failing miserably. “Fuck, I can’t be mad at either you. You’re both too damn sappy. Come on, let’s go eat.” Fenris stumbled blearily after them, refusing to talk until he had his morning tea. “So how did last night go?”

“Perfect,” Alistair grinned, squeezing Kiyone’s hand. “Everything is perfect.


	5. Chapter 5

He scowled, flinging his gloves on the grimy table. “A hundred silvers a month for that hovel? That last landlord has to be out of his mind.” They had spent to the better part of the last three days hunting for an apartment, everything either in worse condition than their room at the Hanged Man or out of their budget, especially considering they were trying to save some from each job now. “At this rate, we’ll be able to leave Kirkwall in another fifteen years or so,” he grumbled.

“Something will come along, love,” Kiyone patted his head, sliding into an empty chair. “New game? Deal me in, Varric.”

“Could always move in with me,” Hawke glanced up from the cards in front of him. “I have an extra room.”

Alistair glanced over at his lover, unsure of how to refuse. Luckily, she had the perfect response, as always. “And have to deal with the sounds of you and Fenris fucking? No thanks,” she stuck her tongue out at him, snapping it back in as the rogue tried to flick it. “Seriously though, thanks, but I think we just really want our own place.” His eyes crinkled as he nodded his agreement.

“Deal me in, too.”

These were her favorite nights, her friends and Alistair, laughing as the ale flowed freely, teasing each other and accusing each other of cheating. She still found herself missing her old friends, the city, and little things like toothpaste and flushing toilets. Baking soda and chamberpots only went so far. But it was easier now, as she began to accept this was her home. Besides, Alistair was here. And there was not a damn thing back on Earth that could compare to him. She was estranged from her parents, barely knew her half siblings, with only a handful of friends she barely saw, preferring to do things like read and hike alone on her days off instead of socializing. So if this is where she spent the rest of her life, well, there were worse fates than being in love with a handsome, kind, funny man such as he.

“Four angels.” She plunked her hand down, grinning triumphantly as the rest groaned, folding and tossing their cards at her. “Thank you, gentlemen,” the silver jingled pleasantly as she scooped the small pile into her bag.

“Think you’re in the wrong place, dog lord,” a gruff voice jeered as slender man hesitantly pushed open the door, sharp eyes searching the room. Beside her, Alistair stiffened, spinning away from the stranger, ducking his head in an attempt to disappear.

“Alistair? Is that you?”

“Teagan,” he muttered without turning around.

“I’ve been looking for you for forever, it seems. You… live here?” The well dressed ginger lord, probably in his early 40s, wrinkled his nose slightly at the boisterous tavern hall, smelling of sweat and alcohol and vomit and the general body odor of people who had never bathed in their life.

“No.”

“He lives in Hightown,” Hawke offered, glancing at the man.

“What do you want,” the younger man growled. Kiyone frowned. It wasn’t like him to be rude to others. Something must have happened with this man.

“I want you to come back home, Alistair. I’ve got a letter from Anora pardoning you, so you’re free to return. Come back to Redcliffe with me.”

“Let me guess. Anora still has no heir, so you need your backup plan. Me,” he sneered. “Too bad. Go find another puppet to put on the throne.”

“Alistair, if you’d just-”

“No!” Leaping to his feet, the large warrior whirled on the Ferelden noble, icy eyes flashing angrily. “I’m done, Teagan. Done in being used as a pawn, done with not having a say in my own fucking life. Yes, this isn’t the most glamorous set up but it’s what I chose. I’m actually happy and free for once in my pathetic life. So, if you ever truly cared about my welfare, you will walk out that door and leave me the fuck alone.” Rant finished, he drained the rest of his drink, slamming the mug on the table, cards falling off onto the floor, and stomped up the stairs.

The one called Teagan sighed wearily, running his hands through his shortly cropped hair, lines on his face standing out even more in the flickering firelight. “Would somebody give him this please? I… It was probably a bad idea to come here at night after he’s been drinking. I suppose I’ll try again tomorrow when his head is clearer.”

“His head is fine,” Kiyone snarled, pushing her chair away, trying to appear menacing as she tilted her head up at him. “You heard what he said. Leave.”

Eyes boring in her hers, he nodded just once. “The letter please.” Her fingers snatched it away from him. “Thank you.” Motioning to the guards who accompanied him, Teagan marched out of the door, disappearing into the dark night.

“They want Alistair to be king?” Hawke blinked.

“The queen remarried, but has yet to produce an heir. There’s gonna be another civil war if she dies without one. I’m guessing Alistair is their best shot at avoiding all that shit again,” Varric sighed, wiping off the cards as he picked them up off the floor. 

“Damn,” the black haired rogue groaned. “Well. He can’t stay here, that clown will be back tomorrow. Come stay at my place for awhile at least, until you find another place. No guarantees on me and Fenris keeping it down though,” he winked.

“I’ll tell him,” Kiyone ruffled his hair. “Thanks, Garrett.”

The bellow of “Hawke!” followed her as she ascended the stair to their room, peeking her head into the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust. “Ali?”

“It’s all bullshit,” a mutter came from the far corner of the room where he was slumped. “I don’t want it. Never wanted it. Maric’s blood has been nothing but a curse for me since the day I was born.”

“Who was that?” she slid to her knees in front of him, gathering his hands in her own.

“My sort-of uncle. Teagan Guerrin. His sister was Queen Rowan, my father’s actual wife. The one he cheated on with my mother. I lived at Redcliffe Castle with Teagan and his brother Arl Eamon until I was sent to the chantry at ten years old.” Glowering at the floor, he banged his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “They would make me leave you. Mages can’t be royalty, you know. I won’t do it.”

“Giving up a kingdom for me?” she smiled, pressing her lips to his palm. “Sweetest thing anyone ever has done for me. Or I suspect, will do.”

“I’m sorry,” Alistair croaked. “You deserve so much more than what I can give you.”

“Hush. To hell with what I deserve. I want you. That’s all I care about,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“How did I get so lucky?” a rough finger traced her soft cheek, Kiyone nuzzing her face into his hand.

“Well, you did save my life, soooo…” his chuckle was warm again, white teeth glinting in the light that sneaked in through the cracks of the walls. “Teagan thinks you were drunk tonight and that’s why you refused,” she frowned. “Hawke says we should stay at his place for now. Until we find our own apartment.”

“Probably for the best,” he sighed. “Alright. Let’s pack.” Lighting a candle with a giddy wave of her hand, Kiyone stuffed the two extra shirts and one extra pants she owned into a worn leather satchel, along with a few pairs of smalls and socks. 

“There, packed,” she grinned. It took Alistair just a few minutes longer to gather the rest of his belongings, every fitting neatly into his bag. “Gonna miss this place?”

“Not really. Just the few fond memories I have of you in here,” he smiled, glancing about the room. “And in that bed.”

“Well,” she rubbed herself suggestively against him, “Then we’ll just have to make new, better memories.” Standing in the center of the rented room, the noises of the tavern that they had grown so accustomed to in the background, arms intertwined around each other, soft sighs echoing as tongues danced sweetly over lips, they shared one last kiss at the end of the first chapter of their life together.

Hawke grinned as the pair re-entered the tavern, bags slung over their back as they approached the table. “Ready?

“As we’ll ever be. Hey Corff! Settling up and getting out of here. Thanks for everything.” The bartender nodded, pulling out a worn ledger to record the end of the terms.

“See you two around.”

***

The fire sputtered as the wind from the open door blew through the foyer, a drunk pirate prancing into the house. “I got you a present, Ki!” she giggled.

“Don’t you ever knock, Isabela?” Fenris muttered from the kitchen.

“Nope! Now where’s my precious girl?”

Upstairs, Alistair poked Kiyone, who was sprawled out on the bed reading Genitivi’s account of the Blight, eyes wide as she devoured each page. “This all sounds like fucking shit,” she said. “Werewolves? Dragons? Golems? This all really happened?”

“Ugh, are you seriously reading that drivel? Give it here,” he snapped, reaching for the book and grabbing only air as she snatched it away. “Ki. It’s trash.”

“Just wanna know what happened,” she pouted. “Also, memorizing her description so if I ever see that bitch on the streets, I can deck her.” A guffaw broke through his defenses, Alistair clutching his stomach as he howled, picturing his love walking up to the Hero of Ferelden and punching her in the face. It was the best thing he could imagine.

“She’s not worth the trouble,” he grinned. “Isabela is summoning you, by the way.”

“She sounds like a howler monkey. WHAT DO YOU WANT,” Kiyone shouted, Alistair wincing at his now bleeding eardrums.

“COME HERE!”

“WHY!”

“STOP FUCKING YELLING!”

Chastened by Fenris’ uncharacteristic bellow, she meekly slinked out of the room and down the stairs. “'Sup.”

“Here!” Isabela threw a package at her. “Found it today when we were poking around the docks.”

“So you stole it?” she snorted, unwrapping the paper.

“The merchant said it was all ruined and he didn’t want it,” Hawke called he walked in the door. “Except for that one. Aveline thought you’d like it.”

It was a dress. Made of emerald green wool, a sweetheart cut neckline, full, swishing skirts, and laces up the sides. Kiyone squealed, spinning around in a circle. She had worn nothing but her leggings and armor for months now, and while she understood that they didn’t have money to spend on frivolous things such as pretty clothes, she still missed it. Sprinting upstairs, she stripped her armor and underclothes off as she ran, pulling the soft fabric over her skin and cinching the ties at her waist. The skirt billowed out around her as she flew back downstairs, twirling across the living room, giggling at the sensation. _Jesus, when was the last time I danced? Or sang? I’m going to lose it if I don’t keep up with it._ “I love it! Thank you!” she threw herself at the Rivaini, who promptly reached down to adjust Kiyone’s breasts so more cleavage was visible.

“That’s better,” she winked at Alistair, who attempted to not drool at the lovely sight. “Now, go take your lady out on the town.”

“Uh,” he scratched his head, “Like where?”

“Some place romantic, Maker, Alistair, you can’t be this hopeless,” Isabela groaned.

 _Some place romantic_ , he wracked his brain. “Oh! I’ve got it. Grab your cloak and a blanket,” he grinned, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I’ll take care of the rest.” Refusing to give her any hints, Kiyone pouted as she ran back to her room, also grabbing her staff, daggers, and bracers just in case, because Kirkwall at night was a free for all. She could hear him humming in the kitchen, as he stuffed random bits of food and a bottle of liquor into his pack, preparing what appeared to be a picnic. “Ready?”

Nodding, she fastened her dark blue cloak around her shoulders, calling out goodnight to their friends, and set off toward Hightown. The night was relatively peaceful for once, Idriel and Satina both full and glowing, lighting their way through the silent city as they slowly wandered the streets, finding only comfort in the presence of the other. “There,” he pointed, a narrow path tucked between two shops. Leading her into the hidden alley, Kiyone gasped as a beautiful garden opened up before them. It looked as if no one had tended to it in years, shrubs and vines wild and overgrown, winding around the carved stone benches and rotting wooden trellises. It was-

“Beautiful,” she breathed. Greenery such as this was in very short supply in the bleak city and surrounding desolate mountains. Most of the flowers were dead, but a few stalks of embrium and a patch of violets remained. “I bet it’s even lovelier in the summer.”

“It is. I found this accidentally one day when I was running from the guard,” he said sheepishly. “I, uh, had taken a job with a smuggler and the ring was busted. Rookie mistake,” Alistair chuckled. “I ducked into this alley and hid in that tree,” he pointed to a decent sized maple in the corner. “Almost gave myself away with a sneezing fit, too. Hungry?” The blanket was spread out over the crumbling stone pavement, a loaf of bread, two apples, and a few slices of ham set aside next to a bottle of cheap whiskey. “I know I should have taken you out, showed you off, but… I thought maybe you would like this better?” His eyes searched hers, waiting breathlessly to see if she approved.

“This is perfect, Alistair,” she murmured, sinking down to the blanket. Snuggling up against him, they took turns feeding each other bits of food, talking and laughing about nothing at all as the hours passed. “I’ve never seen so many stars. Where I’m from, the city has so many lights that you can hardly see a single one. I used to love going to the mountains at night, because you could see so many more, but this…” Kiyone sighed happily. “Do you know any of the constellations here?”

“Let’s see,” he settled his back against the blanket, smiling as she curled into his side. “That one is the High Dragon. See its wings? It’s flying. Oh, and there’s the Sword of Mercy, symbol of the great and almighty templars,” he snorted, fingers tracing a shape near the horizon. “And that’s the Shadow, although it’s technically the shape of an owl. I never understood that one. And the White Wolf way over there.”

“I always wanted a pet wolf as a kid,” she giggled. “My dog growing up looked close enough to be one, but he acted like a big chicken.”

Startled, he asked, “You like dogs?” 

“Love them. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen many dogs here. Or pets in general. Why is that?”

“People are poor here. Pets are just one more mouth they can’t feed. You know Fereldens have war dogs, called mabari. I’ve always wanted one.”

“We should get one. When we finally move out of here. Let’s get a dog.”

“Sweet Andraste, you are the perfect woman,” he groaned, rolling on top of her. “Hmmm.” A hand played with the hem of her skirt. “I think I like you wearing dresses,” Alistair murmured huskily in her ear, sliding his hand up her naked leg. “We’ll have to get you more.”

Snorting, she smirked down at him. “It’s hard to fight in them, you know. Too much material.”

“True,” he agreed amicably. “You’d just have to strip naked before any fights then. Would serve as a fantastic distraction.”

“For you or the enemy?” she teased.

“Both.” Gently laughing, her giggled faded into soft sighs as his hands found her warmth, teasing her until she was writhing underneath him. Shoving her skirts up and yanking her smalls down, he inspected her, laying spread in front of him, moonlight glinting off her arousal, bared to his gaze.

“Someone might see,” Kiyone hissed.

“They might. Do you want me to stop?” Settling himself between her thighs, he licked a slow path up her seam, flicking the tip of his tongue against her hidden pearl.

“N-no…”

“Good.” Drawing lazy curls and circles against her folds, he tasted every bit of her thoroughly, her breath turning ragged under his ministrations as he held her just before her peak, forever hovering on the edge. “Patience, love,” he murmured in response to her tiny whimpers and pleas as he ground his erection against the hard ground, trying to make his control last longer.

“I’m going to get you back for this,” she moaned, hips thrusting up into his face.

“I’m counting on it,” leaning back to unlace his pants, Alistair chuckled, admiring her flushed cheeks and heaving chest. “How I want to strip you completely bare and take you under the moonlight.”

“Maybe wait ‘til summer?” she replied snarkily.

Pressing her knees to her chest, his large hand landed against the soft flesh of her ass, a loud slap ringing out. Caught completely unaware, she moaned at the stinging pain, eyes wide in surprise at her own reaction. “Minx. Looks like someone enjoyed that.” He spanked her again, delighting in her gasps, watching as her sweet cunt dripped, trailing down the curve of her ass to the shadows beyond. “Something to keep in mind for next time,” he grinned, positioning himself at her entrance, gently rubbing his swollen head in her juices.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know thaaaaahhhh!” a low groaned wrenched from her lips as he hilted himself inside of her, rocking against that sensitive bundle of nerves, content to fuck her slowly tonight, enjoying every little sigh and graze of her hands against his skin as he drew her pleasure out. After all these years, he had finally found someone worth fighting for. Living for. Someone who was his home. Home wasn’t a place, he knew that now. It wasn’t Redcliffe, or a castle, or a tavern room, or anything as simple as a building. It was her. Her warmth, her acceptance of him as he was, her love- this is where he belonged.

“I love you,” he murmured. “More than anything.” Grunting, he changed his angle, leaning back as he thrust in, his hands find her clit to rub torturous circles against it. Tension wound itself tightly in her body, building against her skin until she was sure she would burst, her chest heavy as her entire body tingled. “Come for me,” he begged in a harsh voice, his own control fraying. It was all need. Wordlessly, she fell over the precipice, crashing down into the ground before being launched back into the air, floating weightless as her body sparked, the edges of her visions fading, her entire world narrowing to just the feeling of him over and inside of her. With a low groan, he joined her two second later, filling her with everything he had, breath fogging as they both panted into the night air. “I swear, you make me feel like a teenage boy,” he breathed, pushing his hair off his sweaty brow. “I can barely keep my hands off of you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she smiled up at him. Cleaning up, they settled themselves back down on the blanket, cuddled up together once more. “We should go back soon.”

“Sing me a song first? You said you would,” he cajoled, tickling her sides.

“Stop! Ah, stop, Ali!” she shrieked, shoving his hands away giggling. “I’ll sing, dammit, I’ll sing, just stooop!” Glaring at him, she punched him hard in his shoulder, wincing as her knuckles hit splintmail armor. “Let’s see.”

“Stars, in your multitudes, scarce to be counted, filling the darkness, with order and light. You are the sentinels, silent and sure, keeping watch in the night. Keeping watch in the night…”


	6. Chapter 6

Alistair shuffled through the letters on the desk, separating their and Hawke’s mail into two sloppy piles. “Got a few jobs coming up,” he called to Kiyone, who was in the kitchen helping Orana. “Oh, and looks like the other people bailed on that apartment on the edge of Lowtown by the water, so it’s open if we still want it.”

“Yes!” she yelled back. “I liked that one. High enough above the streets so the smell wasn’t bad. And only the one neighbor.”

“I’ll send a message back today then,” he grinned. “We can be out of Hawke’s hair by end of the week. Hmm. Brogan wants me for a guard shift coming up, some expensive goods coming in on his next ship. And Tamra wants your help again.”

“At the store?”

“Yup. Looks like she’s still getting harassed by a few gang members.”

“She’s such a sweet old lady. Fucking thugs,” she groaned. “You know she’s sweet on you.”

“Is she? That’s great, because grandmothers are totally my thing, did you know?”

“I knew it! I'm on to you, Therin. When does she want me?”

“Today, if possible.”

“So much for my day off,” Kiyone sighed, wiping her floured hands on her apron. “You got the rest, Orana?”

“Oh, yes! Thank you for your help!” the elven girl squeaked. Smiling at her, the rogue walked out into the living room, draping herself across Alistair’s back.

“I should be done just before your shift starts. Meet me for supper?”

“Of course. I can meet you at the shop?” He turned, shaking her off his back so he could wrap his arms around her.

“Perfect. I better get going then.” Kissing him, she climbed the stairs to their room, throwing her armor and daggers on, tying her hair back into a french braid before jogging out the front door. Tamra was a sweet older midwife who ran a small shop in her spare time in Lowtown, another refugee from Ferelden that had settled here fleeing the Blight five, almost six years ago. Because she was aging, a lot of gangs tried to intimidate her into paying a protection fee, but the little lady was a spitfire and refused to give in, deciding instead to hire a guard. Namely, Kiyone. She popped in everyone few weeks as needed to run the ruffians off. Pushing the door open, hearing the bells tinkle against the crooked wooden frame, she called out, “Mistress Tamra? Kiyone here.”

“Ah, I’m glad you were able to come today, child,” a gray bun peeked from behind the counter. “Hopefully, the bastards who came by yesterday won’t be back today, but never can be too safe. Just hang around, dear, until I close.”

“Sure,” the rogue replied, settling herself on a stool near the front. _I wonder if they’ll come. Be a pretty boring day if they didn’t stop by. Who’d’ve thought that I’d be working as a bouncer for a tiny apothecary?_ She snorted. _Oh, looks like I’m in luck_. Over the past year and a half, her natural grace and speed as a dancer had served her well, her fighting skills improving vastly to the point where common criminals such as this riffraff were no match for her as long she stayed alert.

“Tamra,” the leader grinned, displaying the numerous gaps in his rotting teeth, “Have you thought about reconsidering yet, love?”

“Call me love again and I’ll rip out your eyes,” the feisty old woman snapped. “Now get out.”

“Aww, don’t be like that. It would be a shame if anything happened to your little shop now, wouldn’t it?”

“I think the mistress urged you take your leave,” Kiyone replied cooly, approaching the men. “Now why don’t you scoot on out?”

“And who’re you?” one man narrowed his eyes at her, the other eyeing her daggers. 

_Your worst nightmare_ , she quipped in her mind. Faster than lighting, she lunged at him, twisting his arm back until she heard an audible snap, leg lashing out behind her to kick the other man square in his groin. Whipping out a dagger, she pressed it to the leader’s neck. “No one of consequence. Now, are you going to leave Mistress Tamra alone, or am I going to have to carve your assurance out of you?” Like she really would. Worst Kiyone would do would be to slice their throats, quickly and neatly. She tried not to think about it much.

“Bitch! You’ll pay for this,” the first man groaned, cradling his arm.

“Dammit,” she hissed, drawing her blade across the leader’s neck and flinging it into the chest of the second, who was struggling to get to his feet, the pain between his legs still causing waves of nausea to roll through him. Unsheathing her other dagger, she leveled it at the broken armed man. “Still gonna cause trouble?”

“N-no, ma’am,” he gulped.

“Good. Now get,” she pointed at the door, smirking as the grown man bolted outside. Sighing, Tamra glanced down at the bodies on the floor.

“Just roll them under that table over there for now, drape this cloth over them. I’ll get my son to swing by later and take care of it. Good job, by the way. Although I think you should’ve killed the last man, too,” the old woman grumbled. “Your heart’s too soft, girl.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Still want me to hang around rest of the day?”

“If you don’t mind. Others may come looking for them.”

“Okay.” Plopping back on her stool, Kiyone hummed songs to herself, listening idly to the conversation that drifted in and out of the tiny ramshackle store as people came through all day, one man begging Tamra’s help for his laboring wife, another, medicine for his sick child. All in all it was a relatively quiet day.

“Here you are, girl. Thirty silver.” Tamra counted out a small pile of coins on the countertop. Pocketing the money, Kiyone waved to the midwife, stepping outside to see if Alistair had arrived yet. He hadn’t. The stone wall was cool against her head as she leaned on it, deciding to wait for him there. The streets were relatively empty today, the winter chill forcing most of the people indoors. The few that were outside scurried along like hooded rats, only intent on their destination, unwilling to meet anyone's gaze A dark bundle to her left caught her attention.

“Please!” A woman in rags knelt on the ground, one hand stretched out to the passersby, another hand cradling a bundle of blankets. “My baby, he’s sick! Just a few coins for medicine? Please? Have mercy, messeres.”

Kiyone hesitantly approached the disheveled mother, unsure if she should be doing this, but unwilling to let a baby suffer. “Madam? I’m a healer. I could take a look, if you’d like.”

“I have no money.” Dull eyes stared lifelessly out at her, voice a hoarse whisper.

“That’s alright. I don’t need payment to help a child,” she smiled, peeling the blankets back from the child. _Oh shit, he’s burning up. Fever._ Poking him with her magic, she felt the virus that had latched itself onto the infant’s heart. “Pneumonia. Medicine won’t help him now. You need magic.” She gauged her reaction. 

“The healer in Darktown, he wasn’t there when I went by today,” the mother replied hopelessly. _Hmm. Anders must be with Hawke. Weren’t they going out to Sundermount today? Shit. This baby is going to die if that fever doesn’t come down soon._

“I can heal him,” Kiyone muttered in a low voice. “But not out here. Follow me.” Standing up, she walked briskly back into Tamra’s shop, pulling the woman into a corner. The shopkeeper was in the back room at the moment. Perfect. Spreading her hands above the tiny bundle, she summoned her mana, pulsing cool waves of magic into the ravaged body, feeling the illness recede, his tiny lungs no longer laboring to draw breath, skin returning to a healthy pink, glassy eyes returning to normal. “There. Here, for some food for you,” she dug out twenty silver.

“Thank you, Messere,” the woman wept over her hands, “Andraste herself must have guided me to you. Thank you, thank you.” Uncomfortable with the display, Kiyone awkwardly patted the woman’s back, waving off her effusive gratitude, gently shoving her out the door.

“Mage. Apostate,” a voice hissed from behind. Tamra stood several feet away, eyes widened in hatred at the guard she so recently hired. “Apostate!” She shrieked, bolting out the door into the street, continuing to chant ‘apostate’ over and over again.

“Fuck.” Sprinting out the door, she frantically glanced for a path to take, but a crowd was beginning to gather.

“Knight-Captain! Over here, the apostate was in front of my store.” _Double fuck. Templars._ There was no other option, except to run. Aiming for a small gap in the circle of spectators, she shoved her way through, sprinting with all of her might down the street, shouts and the clang of plate metal not far behind her. She could outrun them, they were wearing 50 lbs of metal and she was in leathers, more agile and swifter and-

With a disoriented cry, she fell to the ground, the Purge hitting her hard, ripping her mana away from her soul, world spinning out of control. Wincing at the pain from the impact spreading through her shoulder, she tried to focus on the shadow that now loomed over her, the glint of a sword hovering in her periphery. “I’ve got you now, apostate,” a low baritone sneered.

Alistair rounded the corner, hoping Kiyone wouldn’t be too mad he was so late, then ground to a stop, puzzled at the crowd that was gathered in front of Tamra’s shop. Did something happen? Grabbing a nearby man’s arm, he shook it to get his attention, asking, “What’s going on here?”

“Apostate,” he grunted. “That pretty mercenary Tamra hires every once in awhile. Turns out she’s a filthy mage,” the man spat. “Knight-Captain is tracking her down.”

His stomach leapt into his throat, icy hands gripped his heart as Alistair froze in terror. “Which way did they go?”

“Why-”

“Which way did they go?!” he roared, grabbing the man’s tattered shirt and yanking him close.

“There!” he cried, flinging an arm toward a side road. Throwing him to the ground, Alistair fled in that direction, praying he wouldn’t be too late. Lungs burning, he sped through the streets, hope falling away from him as he searched and listened for a sign, any sign. His gaze locked onto something up ahead, feeling his blood boil as he finally spotted the shiny templar armor up ahead, standing over a crumpled figure on the road. 

“Let her go!” he snarled, sword bared as he lunged at the blonde templar, blade turning towards him.

“This is none of your business, civilian!”

“Fuck that. Dammit, Rutherford, she’s not a danger!”

“Alistair?!” The Knight-Captain’s amber eyes gaped at the mercenary, curls falling against his forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving the woman I love from you, apparently. Now let. Her. Go.”

“The woman you- I cannot, Alistair. You know my duty. I have to bring her in,” the templar sighed, rubbing his head wearily. “I’m sorry. She’ll be safer there, at least.”

“Safer?” he barked a bitter laugh. “You’re deluding yourself, Cullen. I still have my templar skills, she’ll be harmless and safe with me. I don’t want to hurt you, please,” begging was not something he normally would resort to, but with Kiyone on the line, he would do anything to keep her safe. Including getting on his knees before the Knight-Captain of the Gallows.

“Nor I you,” Cullen murmured, a strange emotion passing behind his gaze.

“Ali?” Kiyone croaked, trying to raise her head. “What-”

“Sweetheart,” Alistair lowered his voice, speaking through gritted teeth. “I need you to run when I tell you. Can you do that? Run, and hide.”

Jabbing his sword at his old friend, the Knight-Captain snapped, “She is coming with me.”

Kiyone studied the two men. The templar was tall, about the same height as Alistair, her lover appearing to be broader than the other man, but also wearing lighter armor. If she ran, would he be okay? Would his strength hold out against the templar’s added weight from his plate? Then again, he would be able to focus better with her out of the way. Could she just leave him here alone? She would just have to trust him. Nodding, she wobbled to her feet, hands clenching her belly, retching as another Silence blanketed her senses, the former Grey Warden snarling at the templar. Everything stood still as she gagged, both men waiting for the other to make a move. As soon as she regained a semblance of control, Alistair charged.

“Now, Ki!” Forcing herself upright, she raced away, Cullen’s furious yells combining with the clashing of swords behind her, words tumbling from her lips as she prayed to every deity she could think of to keep Alistair safe. Gradually the sounds faded as she took the long way back to Hightown, doubling back to make sure she wasn’t followed, the nausea finally leaving her as her mana trickled back in. Unlocking the front door and barreling through it, she sped up to their room and collapsed on the bed in her full armor, tremors gripping her body. What would they do now? The Knight-Captain knew what she looked like. Would he be able to find her? Could she move underground like Anders? Maybe he’d forget. Kirkwall was a large city, after all. How far would this Cullen go to capture her? Where was her lover? Panic, then dread set in as hours went by, Kiyone spending her time anxiously pacing the length of their room, trying to futilely keep her breaths deep and even. Night shrouded the world by the time Alistair finally crept back in after midnight, bleeding from a deep cut in his arm and absolutely filthy.

“Ki, thank the Maker you’re alright,” he gasped, roughly crushing her to his chest. “Did you pack? No? Come on, we need to get out of the city as soon as possible.”

“He won’t let this go?” she asked in a timid voice, pressing her magic into his injuries. “I could go to Darktown, stay there with Anders for a bit. Hide out until this blows over.”

“No,” he glowered. “You don’t know Rutherford like I do. Damn man is the epitome of the Templar Order, like a dog with a bone. He will hunt you for the rest of his life because that’s his Void taken duty. Our only chance is leaving.”

Tears broke through her defenses at last, the salty liquid burning a path down her cheeks as she lowered her head in guilt. “I’m so sorry, Alistair. But there was a baby, I couldn’t let it die,” she pleaded. “I know this is your home, you- you don’t have to come with me. I can go by myself.”

“Are you serious? Hey, Ki, look at me,” icy blue eyes wide, he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her chin up. “I promised you we’d get through everything together. You’re crazy if you think I’m abandoning you now. Plus, Kirkwall isn’t my home. You are. So come on, dry your tears and let’s go pack, okay? Hey," his voice dropped a register, soothing and warm, "I love you. You are the single most important thing to me in this world and I am never leaving you. I swear.” Nodding, tears flinging off her cheeks, Kiyone offered him a tentative smile.

“Thank you, Ali.” He kissed her forehead, taking just a second longer to wrap her in a comforting hug.

“Anytime.” It took them scant minutes to stuff everything they owned into their packs, raiding the kitchen and pilfering some rations to add on top, and filling their water skins. “Hawke’s not back yet. We’ll just have to leave a note.” Fumbling around for a quill, pulling a blank piece of parchment out, Alistair scrawled a simple message: _Templars found Ki. Leaving Kirkwall. Will try to update later. Thanks for everything. A & K. _Folding the paper, he slipped it into the desk. “Ready?”

Casting one last longing look back at the cozy, warm house, feeling the cold winter air just beyond the doorframe, Kiyone nodded, drawing her hood up and wrapping her cloak tightly around herself. “Ready.”

“It’ll be okay. I promise,” he squeezed her hand, offering her a reassuring smile. “We’ll get through this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not cool, Cullen.


	7. Chapter 7

Crossing the Vinmarks in the middle of winter was the worst fucking idea ever, Kiyone groaned to herself. Alistair telling her this winter was mild compared to Ferelden was doing nothing to improve her mood. Cold was stupid. Not being able to feel her damn toes or fingers was stupid. The snow that was currently falling as they descended the other side of the mountain was stupid. But at least the fresh snowfall hid their tracks from the templars that followed them for the first few days, before mysteriously giving up.

The couple was currently headed north, bound for the larger city of Starkhaven, several days still left in their trek. Precious few others joined them on the barren road that led out of Kirkwall, preferring to delay their trips until the weather let up. But they could afford to wait; Alistair and Kiyone could not. So, huddled into their cloaks, they pressed on through the biting winds, Alistair trying his best to keep her spirits up.

“We should be able to stop soon, there should be a cave just over that next ridge. I’ve never been to Starkhaven, but I heard it’s pretty. It’s the biggest city in the Marches with three sets of double walls built right into the Minanter River. Everything is gold and marble and smooth granite aaaaand you don’t really care, do you?” His shoulders slumped. “Hey, look! The cave! Come on, I’ll get a fire going.” Shivering, Kiyone followed him into the dank cavern, peering cautiously towards the darkness at the back, listening for sounds of wildlife. “Dammit, wood is wet. Uh, could you…?” Alistair felt the slight tug of her mana as the little pile of twigs and moss blazed. “Come on, love. Sit.”

He knew he was fussing over her, but she had barely spoken one word since they left yesterday. Her face was devoid of any emotion and he worried over what turbulent thoughts were going through her mind. Kneeling on the dirt, her hands reaching out to the warmth, Kiyone sighed as feeling returned to her frozen extremities. “Alistair?” He perked up at the sound of her voice.

“Hey, you.”

“Did you know that templar?”

Wearily rubbing his head, Alistair leaned against the rough wall, fingers playing with a glowing blue mushroom he plucked. “Cullen Rutherford. We both trained at the same chantry as templar recruits. He came late, about three years after me, but… we were friends. Most of the others looked down on me because I was a bastard, and the common born boys teased me for being a so called prince,” a frown created creases across his brow. “But Cullen, he didn’t care. He was so serious, even as a kid, and I was, well, me. Complete opposites but it worked for us. We were close. Very close.” Kiyone raised her eyebrow at the insinuation in his voice.

“Oh, really?”

Furiously blushing, Alistair averted his gaze and shrugged. “Bunch of young boys going through puberty in the such close quarters with the only examples of femininity being the old sisters who ran the chantry, it happens. A lot, actually. Of course, we lost touch after Duncan recruited me. I saw him again when he was stationed at the Ferelden circle, during the Blight. He had… changed.”

“Fuck. I read about that. Demons killed everyone, right?”

“Yes,” he nodded, trying to scrub the memory from his brain. “They tortured him. But he lived. Albeit scarred for life. That’s why he’s so…”

“Bent on being a colossal douche?” she supplied.

“Devoted to his duty,” came the retort. “He’s seen the worst of magic. I still believe he’s a good man underneath it, but, yes. Cullen doesn’t care for mages much these days, same as his Knight-Commander, seeing blood magic and abominations at every turn.”

“Damn. That’s a lot to go through.” As she continued to stare into the fire, Alistair hesitantly scooted closer to her.

“Talk to me, Ki.” She shook her head, black hair whipping around to smack him in the face. “Ow! Your hair is a weapon, did you know that? Come on, love. What’s wrong?”

“What’s not wrong, Alistair?!" she cried bitterly. "I mean, look at this shit. We’re in a cave, middle of winter, running because of _me_. You left the only place you had lived in for years, steady work, and comfort because I had to go and have fucking magic. Magic shouldn’t even exist! And now we’re going to a place neither of us know just to start all over. And I have to hide my talents for the rest of my life if I don’t want to be locked up and potentially be turned into a goddamn vegetable, talents I never even wanted! This is all just such… bullshit,” her voice hitched, a few tears slipping down her cheek. Furious with her lack of control, Kiyone viciously scrubbed her face dry. 

Pulling her to his chest, wishing neither was wearing their thick armor so he could feel her in his arms, Alistair buried his face in her hair. “I know. It’s not fair. Nothing ever is. But we’re together still. I’ll help as much as I can, you know I will. We’ll make it. Let’s just get to Starkhaven, find some work. We can still have our little cottage in the woods. Just might take a bit longer, that’s all.”

“Okay. Sure,” she sighed, curling up on the floor. Tucking her cloak around her, Alistair threw a few more branches on the fire and slid up behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist. 

“Things will be better when we get to the plains. You’ll see.” _I will always protect you. You have my word._

***

Once the snow stopped and the weather warmed a bit as they headed north, Kiyone’s mood began to improve. It helped that Alistair was a seasoned pro at traveling, knowing exactly what roots and herbs were edible and how to build traps to snare nugs and rabbits. Although he had to let the rabbits go, after she snatched one up and started cuddling the frightened creature, declaring that she would starve before resorting to roasted bunny. 

He had never met another person who would rather go hungry rather than eat just because the animal was cute, but that was part of her charm. Wholly different from any other woman he had ever known, especially _her_. Solona Amell. She had been soft spoken, all feminine gentility that masked a heart of stone. Power was the only thing that woman had understood. And he, like a fool, had fallen for her supposed tenderness, her smooth words, too entranced by her bright blue eyes and lush blonde curls, following her as if he were nothing but a puppy, without a mind of his own. How Morrigan and her must have laughed at him those nights on the road, Solona giving him a patronizing pat on the head whenever he objected to their teasing. He should have known. But he had loved her. He had stayed silent when she had killed all the werewolves without even attempting to parley. He had agreed with her when she insisted they needed to save the Anvil of the Void, regardless of Caridin’s pleas. He had even not raised a single protest when she decided to let Isolde die to save Connor, refusing to even consider going to the Circle for additional help. But then she had done the unthinkable and saved Loghain, snapping at him that they needed all the help they could get, for while she had accepted her new best friend’s dark ritual that would supposedly save them, Solona had wanted the extra assurance that she would survive. 

Kiyone wouldn’t have done any of those things, he knew. She was the exact opposite of the Hero of Ferelden, her heart warm and open, hiding behind her pain and crass behavior, but she saw the best in people, no matter what. Back in Kirkwall, it was always Kiyone who jumped in the middle of Fenris and Anders when they started arguing, hating tension between her friends, begging them to stop. It was Kiyone who had given away their entire day’s wages once to a mother with three hungry babes so they could eat, apologizing profusely to him later. He wasn’t upset. How could he be? If it came down to an individual person’s welfare versus the collective vague whole, she would always choose the person in front of her, because she could not bear to see their pain. Did that make her weak? Alistair didn’t care. It was what made her, her. She made him remember the idealistic youth he had been before Solona had crushed his spirit. She brought back his desire to serve and defend, as he had once swore himself to do. Now she was the only thing he wanted to protect. For the rest of his life, if she let him.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t spot the distant glimmer on the horizon or hear the far-off roar of water. Her hand shaking his arm jolted him from his reverie. “Alistair! Is that it?” 

Grinning, he threw his arm around her shoulders. “Starkhaven, my lady. Should be there tomorrow.” Her weight fell against him as she slumped with a dramatic groan.

“Thank God and your Maker. My feet are going to fall off, I swear. Do we have enough for a room? Or are we gonna have to camp outside the city?” Her eyes hopefully searched his, praying his answer would be yes.

“There’s enough for at least one night,” he chuckled. “And a bath for both of us. I don’t know how you don’t stink to high heaven, but I definitely do. Ooh, and bread and cheese.”

Now that their destination was in view, the trek through the outlying villages passed much faster, the rustic sounds surprisingly pleasant to hear. Kiyone noted how much happier and better fed the people here were compared to Kirkwall. Children ran through the streets, squealing and giggling, chickens and ducks wandered underfoot, while women strung freshly washed laundry on the lines. It was peaceful.

“We could move somewhere like this,” he glanced around, smiling indulgently at a little girl who scampered out in front of him chasing a ball.

“And do what? Farm?” she teased.

“Raise dogs,” Alistair chuckled.

Frowning at the neat little gardens, Kiyone’s eyes clouded over with worry. “No, seriously, Ali. What would we do? I know nothing about sewing or gardening. I only know the few things Orana taught me about cooking in Hawke's kitchen. My world was nothing like this,” she waved at the villagers. “I don’t know how to survive here.”

“We can learn. Both of us,” he replied firmly. “I mean, all I really know is how to fight, a little about horses. We could find permanent jobs as guards somewhere? We’ve got time to figure it out.”

Shaking her head, she couldn’t help but smile at his optimism. Alistair was bent and determined to do whatever it took to make sure she was happy, and it was a new feeling, but wholly appreciated. The lack of plans did bother her though. Not like she had ever been particularly goal oriented, but there was always a vague idea of what she was working towards and what she wanted to be doing in five, ten years. Now? Beyond finding work at Starkhaven, what purpose did she have? Yes, she was with Alistair and she loved him, but was that all? Get married, settle down, have a family? Kiyone already knew that life didn’t appeal to her past a certain point. She wanted something to call her own. _I suppose he’s right though. We’ve got time to figure this out still. Just need to focus on finding a place to live and a job first._

Starkhaven was much as he described it on the journey over, the outer ring neat and clean with common buildings hewn out of rough, pale stone, granite paved streets with sparkling fountains, gold and marble glowing in the setting sun from the fancy mansions and palace in the second and third tiers, all separated by tall, gray stone walls. “It’s so pretty,” she gasped, turning this way and that, admiring how the stained glass set high into the chantry’s walls caught the light.

Pleased that her usual personality had been restored, Alistair bent over to check the job board, grabbing a few parchment scraps to take with them. “Reward for clearing out the bandits on the northern highway that runs to Tantervale. And a guard post for the merchant’s guild. Which one should we do first?”

“We should bathe first,” Kiyone sniffed. “Sleep in a real bed. Does it say how many bandits there are?”

“Hmm,” Alistair scanned the listing. “Nope. So I guess we’ll hold off on that one, get some more information first. Guard post it is, then.” Stuffing the notes in his pocket, he grinned, offering the crook of his arm to her. “My lady? Shall we retire for the evening?”

The crowd was fairly sparse as the couple wandered through the town, searching for a decent inn, a friendly local man outside with his kids pointing them to a place called The Royal Stead. Heat from the hearths billowed out of the front door, air filled with the scent of spiced potatoes and baked fish, laughter floating out into the street. Leaning against an empty section of wall, Kiyone waited as Alistair went up to the innkeeper to inquire after rooms and a bath. A few moments later, her lover returned triumphantly with a key. “They’re sending supper up to our rooms, too.”

“Fancy,” she grinned. The room was fairly clean, soft linen stuffed with clean, fresh hay for the mattress, no mildew smell embedded into the walls. There was even a mirror above a tin basin. Unfastening her armor for the first time in days, Kiyone gagged at the stench that wafted up to her, her underclothes stained with sweat and mud and god knows what else. “Shit,” she watched as the staff placed a wooden tub in the center of the room, dumping bucket after bucket of steaming water inside of it. “That’s going to take years. Someone seriously needs to invent indoor plumbing.”

“They have it already in Orlais and Tevinter, only among the nobility, or if you’re really rich.” Alistair groaned in pleasure as his armor fell to the floor, pulling his filthy shirt over his head. One of the servant girls walked in, promptly getting an eyeful of rippling muscle and squeaked as she dumped her bucket half in the tub, half on the ground. “Oh! I’m, uh, sorry, I’ll just-” her fierce warrior blushed when he realized the woman was still ogling him, ducking behind a privacy screen in the corner of the room, Kiyone’s giggles following him.

“Lucky lass, you are,” the servant tossed her a saucy wink, pulling the door closed behind her. Stripping the rest of her clothes off, Kiyone called out to him.

“Your modesty is safe now, lover.” Sheepishly chuckling, he glanced up at her through his thick golden lashes, freezing when he saw her nude from, back arched as she tested the temperature of the water, heating it a bit more. He hadn’t felt her skin against his in eight days, since they left Kirkwall. It was the longest they had gone without since she dropped into his life over eighteen months ago. And while he hadn’t necessarily minded, seeing her now like this set his blood boiling. Padding up behind her, his hands traced the curve of her waist, dropping down to massage the firm flesh of her ass. “Bathe first, then that,” she wiggled her rear at him, earning a playful growl and a nip on her ear.

“Have it your way,” Alistair tossed her a smirk as he lowered himself into the tub, holding his arms out for her. It was a tight fit, but she was small anyways. With a blissful sigh, Kiyone snuggled against his chest, dipping under to wet her hair, feeling his fingers grab the soap and start kneading her scalp. Slippery skin moved down to scrub her neck, sneaking around to lather her breasts for several minutes, a bulge nestled against her back poking her with increasing insistency.

“I think my tits are clean, Ali,” she laughed, spinning around. “Your turn.” Obliging her, his back turned to face her, skillful hands cleaning the week of travel grime off of his skin, revealing the creamy, pinkish skin underneath. Grimacing at the now almost black water, she gracefully stepped out of the tub, wrapping a coarse towel around herself to answer the knock at the door.

“Food!” Sighing happily, Alistair dried himself off, eagerly digging into the simple fish pie, Kiyone watching him eat with something between amazement and disgust.

“How the hell do you eat all of that?”

“Gwey Warehn staimma,” he spoke through a full mouth. Swallowing, he continued with a raised eyebrow, “Same way I can go all night with you.”

“Jesus,” she hummed, memories of their previous trysts returning to the forefront of her mind. “You should show me that again. I think I forgot.” Large dark brown eyes blinked innocently at him.

Placing his fork carefully next to the bowl, he stood up. “I’m onto you, you know. All your little secrets and tricks.” Tugging the towel off of her, her bare form greeted him, the smell of clean skin and her invading his senses.

With a sultry curl of her lips, Kiyone dropped to her knees in front of the large man, peeling his own towel away, exposing a hardening erection that bobbed enticingly just at her eye level. Swiping her tongue up the underside his shaft, a shudder wracked his bulk, lips slightly parted as he watched her with hazy eyes darkened to a deep sky blue. “Oh no. Whatever shall I do?”

“More of that,” he breathlessly demanded.

“As you wish,” inhaling deeply of his musky scent, she wrapped her lips around his girth, moving with agonizing slowness over his skin as her fingernails lightly trailed over his hipbones, down his inner thighs. His fists clenched by his side, softly moaning as she sucked, licked, and nibbled his cock, driving him to absolute distraction.

"Ki," he gasped, grabbing her arm, "I need you." Lips locked with hers in a passionate kiss, wrapping her close to his chest, almost as if he were trying to absorb her into his body by sheer force. Her hips ground against his, begging for any kind of friction. He was only too happy to acquiesce. Taking himself in hand, Alistair teased her entrance, delighted to find her already dripping wet for him. "Does sucking me off turn you on this much?"

"Yes," her voice was high and needy, "Please, love, fuck me!" With a sharp breath from them both, he slid inside with one smooth pushed, Kiyone's eyes fluttering shut and head lolling back as he stretched her to accommodate his size. It had been too long, far too long since he was last joined with her. But this was worth it. Pushing her backwards, he set her on the edge of the bed and leaned over her, her legs wrapped around his muscled back.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he hissed, rolling his pelvis, trying to find that spot deep inside to make her scream. "Like this, sweetling?"

She couldn't respond, too lost in the sensations of his hands gripping her tightly, his lips moving over the hollow of her throat, his cock buried deep inside, and her clit rubbing against his rough, wiry hairs. Prayed this would never end. "Don't stop," she begged, even as he pushed her closer to the edge.

"Never," he promised. MInutes, hours passed as they slowly melted into each other, drawing out their pleasure for as long as they both could stand it. The sounds of soft, breathless sighs and gasps filled the rooms, providing a sweet counterpoint to the wet slaps of skin on skin. The room reeked of sex. Her hands tugged sharply in his hair. "Fuck," he hissed, struggling to maintain his grip on her now slippery body, both of them drenched in sweat. "Kiyone. Come for me, darling. I need to feel you come undone around me. Please, please-"

She screamed. Her spine arched in a perfect curve, exposing the smooth column of her throat to him, perfect for him to mark. Clamping his teeth around the sensitive skin, he felt her shudder beneath him as she exploded, rocking against him with keening wails and gasps, fingernails clawing his back to shreds. Just a few thrusts more, and he joined her, snarling in her ear as he gave himself over to his lack of control, spilling deep within her.

Laying back, she smiled lazily up at him, reaching a hand up to push a sweaty lock of hair from his face. "That was amazing," she sighed happily.

"Was it?" he chuckled, nuzzling her cheek. "Although I do recall, you said you forgot about my stamina. That I could go all night long with you. By my count, we still have several hours left." Her eyes widened.

"Ali..."

His voice deepened to harsh, low growl. "Oh, no. I'm not done with you yet. I want to hear you beg more. I want you to be sore, so that every step you take tomorrow, you think of this. I want you to be so full of my seed until you're overflowing."

"I love you."

His answering grin was positively wicked and yet playful. "I love you, too."


	8. Chapter 8

The plains stretched as far as the eye could see, with only slight, rolling hills covered with brown, dead, sparse grasses breaking up the monotonous landscape. To their backs, the Minanter widened from a meandering stream into roaring rapids, dark waters frothing against the rocks. Just up ahead, a group of about six men lounged alongside the main highway that ran alongside the river, grinning as the couple approached.

“Lookit what we got here, lads. Hey, pretty lass. How’s about you pass a little time with us, eh?” one of the bandits called, a matted beard covering his pasty skin.

“Sure!” Kiyone replied brightly. “I like games. How ‘bout we play one called-” she whipped her dagger out and pointed the tip at the man. “Get the fuck out of here before we make you?” Guffaws met her unsuspecting threat, the rough criminals unable to believe this tiny woman could do any harm to them. And the man with her, well, there was one of him and six of them.

“I’d listen to her if I were you,” a lazy drawl smirked behind him. “After all, we’re miles from the city. No one to hear you scream.”

“I think we’ll take our chances. Boys?” Sneering, the men slowly withdrew chipped swords from battered sheaths, ill-fitting leathers covering lanky bodies that reeked now that they all stood upwind of her. Not bothering to hide her gagging, Kiyone unhooked her staff and thumped it against the ground, tiny sparks scorching the grass where the wood met the path. “Apostate!”

“Too late!” she grunted, casting a winter’s breath spell, freezing three men where they stood, spinning her bladed staff into the stomach of a fourth. Behind her, Alistair effortlessly parried the thrusts of the two other, feinting with his sword high, jabbing low straight through leather armor into the soft flesh below, kicking the dying man away into the dirt, slicing the other straight across the chest. It was simple work to finish the others off, sluggish and shivering as they were from the ice. “Such a waste of life.” Shaking her head at the sight, she used a small force push to help roll the bodies into a pile on the side of the road, observing with a distasteful grimace as Alistair combed through their pockets to see if there was anything useful on the bandits.

“Few lockpicks. About 240 silver though, not bad. Uh. This pocket is sticky. I think I’m going to be sick,” a decidedly green hue tinged his skin as he stumbled back from the last man, sprinting for the river.

“Should I burn the bodies?” she yelled after him, but the rush of the water drowned out her voice, so instead, she followed him, eager to wash her own hands. The river was frigid, her fingers going almost instantly numb as she scrubbed them, wincing in sympathy as Alistair gagged next to her.

“Maeve! NO!” Kiyone’s head whipped up at the shrill shriek, eyes spotting a woman in a dark brown dress, sprinting across the plains on the other side of the river, arms outstretched to-

“Shit!” A little girl bobbed on the surface of the Minanter, trying to scream, water pouring into her lungs as the current dragged her under. Cursing under her breath, Kiyone flung her dagger belt off and began ripping her armor off.

“You can’t go out there! The current is too strong and the rapids are just ahead. You’ll die,” Alistair grabbed her wrist, tugging her back. “She’s lost, Ki. There is nothing we can do.”

“Like hell there isn’t!” Jerking her arm free, sprinting for the shore, ignoring his panicked shouts, Kiyone plunged into the icy river, breath leaving her body in a single sharp gasp as all sensation fled her limbs. Gritting her teeth, she forced her arms to move, concentrating on her legs kicking out behind her, determined to reach the little girl before the rapids worsened. The weight of the cold pressed down on her body, making every stroke feel like she was swimming through sand, her blood trickling down to a slow thump in her heart. Merely ten feet away, the little girl slammed into a large rock, the current pressing her against the stone and pinning her there for a few precious seconds. Just long enough for Kiyone to reach her, shoving her arm out, fingers gripping painfully around the tiny wrist. _Fuck, it’s cold. Getting tired. Come on, just gotta make it to shore now_. The child’s eyes were closed, head lolling to one side as her lips paled, a cool shade of blue tinting her porcelain skin. 

Heaving with all of her might, she kicked off of the rock, propelling her at an angle to the rocky shoreline downstream, one arm wrapped underneath the girl’s armpits, attempting as best she could to keep her head above the rapids. Finally, after what felt like hours later, her feet scraped the rough riverbed, the shoreline within her grasp. Kiyone crawled up the gravel, dragging the girl behind her up out of the water. _No pulse. Okay. I got this. Just this one more thing._ Pinching the slender nose shut, she breathed into the tiny mouth, sharply rapping the heel of her hand against the soaking dress over her chest, begging for a miracle. Nothing. The parents were almost upon her now. _I can’t give them a dead kid. Please please please._ Trying a second round, she was on compression number four when the toddler starting vomiting, water pouring out of her mouth as she coughed and heaved into the ground, tears already starting to pour out as she wailed for her mother. “Thank you, God,” Kiyone muttered, collapsing on the ground next to her.

“Maeve! Oh, Maeve, sweetheart!” Scooping up her child, the mother sobbed hysterically, clutching her baby to her chest, completely oblivious to wetness that was soaking her dress.

“Should get her out of those clothes,” Kiyone mumbled. “Gonna freeze otherwise.”

Startled, the woman glanced over at her as if she had just realized the rogue was there. “You saved her! I don’t know how we can ever repay you,” the man who ran up behind his wife panting gasped, eyes still wide with terror.

“Kiyone! Maker’s breath, are you okay?” Alistair came skidding up to her, hair a wild mess, drenched in sweat having had to run down to the nearest bridge and sprint all the way back. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he pressed his head to hers, feeling her body now chattering violently. “We need to get you warm. I’ll build a fire.” The man trotted off after him, leading him over to their wagon where all their supplies were, constructing a roaring fire within minutes. Gently, Alistair helped her over to the heat, all but carrying her the last few steps, stripping the rest of her frozen clothes off and wrapping a thick blanket around her. “Can you heal yourself?” he muttered, warily watching the other couple tend to their toddler.

“N-n-not y-y-y-yet,” she shivered, huddling against his form. It would be several minutes before she would be able to compose herself enough to cast the small heat spell through her blood, sighing as the trembling stopped. The man knelt down beside her.

“You have done my family the greatest service I could have asked for,” he murmured, the glimmer of tears lining his eyes. “I am Lorcan, this is my wife Aislinn, and of course, Maeve.”

“I’m Alistair, and this is Kiyone,” he nodded. “Glad she’s alright.”

“Yes,” Lorcan sighed, groaning as he plopped back on the ground next to them. “Toddlers are so fast. One minute she was right beside us, and the next… I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. Are you with the guard?” He eyed Alistair’s armor.

“No, just simple sell-swords,” he smiled good-naturedly. 

“Indeed? Are you looking for work?” At their nod, Lorcan beamed. “I’m a merchant. Or, trying to be, at least. We’re heading on a long journey from here around to Jader, following the Imperial Highway all the way. We could use your help.”

Alistair raised his eyebrows at that. “Merchant? And you brought no other guard along with you and your family?”

Guilt flushed over his face, his gaze lowering to the ground as he muttered, “I did not think it would be as bad as it has been. My own fault, for living such a sheltered life before. We left Ansburg just days ago, and since then we have been set upon by bandits, bad weather, and now this. I can pay.”

“How much?”

“Fifty silver a day? Plus whatever food we have is yours. Better if you can help me hunt. If we stop overnight in an inn, I’ll pay for your room as well.”

“Hmm. All the way to Jader,” stroking the stubble on his chin, Alistair tapped Kiyone on her cheek. “What do you say, love? It’s going to be a long trip. Months. Probably take ‘til next summer. But we might have enough by then to find a place of our own,” his lips curled up in a gentle smile.

“Sounds good,” she croaked. “No more swimming though.”

“I still can’t believe you did that,” muttering under his breath, he cut a glare at the reckless woman. “Actually, scratch that, yes I can. Alright, Messere Lorcan, you’ve got yourself two guards until Jader. Our belongings are in Starkhaven. Are you staying there tonight?”

“Yes, just as soon as Maeve is up to it. We plan on staying three days for Wintersend and leaving the day after.”

“Alright then,” rising to his feet, Alistair helped Kiyone up, who was currently frowning at the prospect of putting her wet clothes on. “We’re staying at The Royal Stead. If you have need of us in the meantime, send word there. Otherwise, we will meet you outside of the western gates at dawn the day after Wintersend.”

“Keep the blanket for now,” Lorcan waved his arm at the woman. “Again, thank you, for everything.”

Nodding at the merchant and his wife, who was huddled under layers of furs, cuddling with her daughter, the pair set off down the road. As soon as Alistair deemed it safe, Kiyone flashed a spell through her soaking clothes, sighing in blissed relief as she shrugged into the warmed garments.

“I suppose it’s going to be too much to ask you to never pull a stunt like that again?” he asked glumly.

“Probably,” she agreed. “I’m sorry, love, I know you must have been worried, but-”

“Worried?” he barked. “I worry when you come back to the room a few minutes later. That? That was me completely panicking, thinking I had just watched you kill yourself.”

“I had to try!” she shot back. “If I didn’t and she died, I would never have forgiven myself.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, looking up at the sky as if he were beseeching the Maker to grant him serenity. “I know, I know. I’m glad you’re both okay.”

“Job isn’t too bad either, hmm?” she poked him.

“It’s Orlais.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“You say that now. But it’s full of… _Orlesians_.”

“I’ll protect you from their scary hats, Ali,” she chuckled. “Don’t worry.”

*** 

Kiyone gained a new little shadow in the form of a toddler, Maeve silently trailing behind the woman wide eyed wherever she went, still in awe of the person who had saved her life. Their new employers turned out to be a kind, if rather naive, couple, who married against their families’ wishes. Lorcan’s minor noble father had disowned him for marrying the daughter of the local seamstress, Aislinn, so they had been trying to scrape by, doing what they could, mainly surviving off of his wife’s sewing skills before deciding on this latest venture. Kiyone enjoyed their time so far together, pleased to see Alistair’s demeanor slowly shifting from his rougher persona he held back in Kirkwall to the more relaxed man he had been before the Blight. He and Lorcan got along quite well, passing the time by torturing the women with terrible puns for as long as they could stand it.

On quiet nights like this one, Aislinn would take out her thread and needle and teach Kiyone the basics of sewing, the latter now sporting a series of pinpricks in her fingers that she didn’t dare heal. “This needle is possessed,” she flinched, stabbing herself again.

Chuckling, the professional adjusted the sliver of metal in her hand, rapping against her knuckles to get her to loosen her grip. “You are gripping it wrong. Here, like so. There you are!”

It was a pleasant time, all in all, Alistair reflected, leaning back against the grass, belly relatively full. They were only a day or two from the turnoff just before the capital of Nevarra, where the Imperial Highway would cross their path, taking them south to Cumberland, then west into Orlais. The terrain was already changing, grass and dirt giving way to sand and rock, the Silent Plains just to the north of where they were camped on the edge of a wind ravaged forest.

Jader was their final destination, a small fishing town on the coast of the Waking Sea, nestled right at the base of the Frostback Mountains. He would be closer to Ferelden there than he had been since he was banished. But now, he was free to return. Where should they stay after this was over? It was a real possibility that they could cross back over into his homeland, settled down in one of the tiny villages dotting the Bannorn, maybe enlist in some arl’s guard. Or stay in Orlais? There were smaller towns where the insane fashions and Game didn’t quite reach. Or… he could take her to Redcliffe. They would have a better life there, at least. No more sleeping on the cold, hard ground or sketchy taverns or mystery bowls of stew. But if he went back, there would be expectations of him to do his duty. Learn how to be a backup king, things such as politics and genealogies and military strategy and which fork to use and how to not start an international war in eight words or less. Eamon would make him give Kiyone up, in hopes he would find a more suitable wife. Unless…

Unless they were married already. Then, there wouldn’t be a thing Eamon could do. The very notion of introducing her as his wife to the old Arl make Alistair giggle with anticipation The nobility would have no choice but to accept her, as long as she kept her magic hidden. Was that what he wanted though? Was that what she wanted?

It was hard to tell. She rarely complained about the difficult life they led, even though he knew that this was not what she was used to. Kiyone was accustomed to living like a noble, with soft beds and running water, endless music, and a relatively steady supply of food. Did she enjoy this life with him? Or did she secretly long for Kirkwall, and their spare room in Hawke’s mansion with their own bath? He would have to ask her. 

For a brief moment, he let himself indulge in a fantasy where he could afford to dress her in silk and velvet gowns and take her to fancy parties and restaurants. How her eyes would sparkle as she twirled across the dancefloor, slender fingers wrapped around his as she tugged him out to dance with her, ignoring his protests that he didn’t know how. She wouldn’t care, he thought with a wry grin. _It doesn’t have to be a fantasy_ , a small voice whispered in his head. _After so many months on the road, she might be desperate to settle down in comfort. What if you still can’t give her that, if you don’t have enough saved? Redcliffe would be your only option._

Could he go back to that life? If she wanted it, he would. For her. Regardless of the fact that it was the one thing he swore he never wanted to do. It was still too soon to make a decision, anyways. He would wait until they were closer to Jader. That was still months away. Thus satisfied with his reasoning, Alistair drifted to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

“Do you see the White Spire? The tall tower, up on the hill? That city around it, my dear, is Val Royeaux, crown jewel of Orlais.” Aislinn gave an appropriately awed sound as Kiyone merely stared with her mouth agape.

“Shit, it’s huge,” she muttered. “Heh, that’s what she said.” Torn between rolling his eyes at her terrible, childish jokes and beaming with pride, Alistair shifted against the back of the wagon, gazing out to the front. The glittering white walls rose out of the green hills, the sweet scent of flowers and wheat drifting across the highway as spring announced itself.

“This place is going to be crawling with nobility and their poncy attitudes,” he sighed. “At least we get our own room tonight.” The last time they had privacy at night was about two weeks ago, when they stayed in Val Chevin. Not much time on the road for canoodling, especially with a toddler nearby. 

“And a bath?” she asked hopefully.

“Anything for you.” It would have to be here. There were dozens of jewelry merchants scattered throughout the capital, surely he could find one with rings that would suit their budget. And while he detested the attitude of most of the people here, he could not deny it was a beautiful city. He had heard such glowing reviews of the architectural wonder that was the Chantry here. It would be perfect. If he could finally work up the nerve to ask her.

Smooth stone and wide avenues opened up before them as they rolled through the city gates, the noise of the marketplace reaching them first. It was a riot of color, garlands of flowers and silken banners draped over every balcony and railing as the residents celebrated the end of winter, welcoming the warmer weather with open arms.

Kiyone took in the people with wide eyed confusion, trying her best to not stare at the masks that covered most of the people’s faces. “Ali, why is everyone wearing a mask?”

“Because Orlesians are weird,” he grumped. She had to admit that the natives here were as opposite as you could get from her Ferelden warrior and the other refugees she had known in Kirkwall. As a whole, they were a down to earth, no nonsense sort, favoring practicality over appearances. The Orlesians, it seemed, believed in beauty above all else. It showed in the graceful lines of the stone and metalwork, imposing and regal, in the lines of the dresses the women wore, bearing accoutrements that were about as impractical as they were ridiculous, and- _Is that woman wearing live birds in her hair? Oh dear. Well, at least they look like a people who would appreciate ballet._

Lorcan stopped the wagon at a modest inn on the outskirts of the merchant’s district, a small painted sign declaring this place to the Le Cynge, The Swan. Bidding a good night to their employers, Alistair and Kiyone walked up to their room, gratefully dropping their packs on the smooth wooden floorboards, the latter staring in shock at the pristine room. It was by far the cleanest place they had ever stayed, even more so than Starkhaven, with an actual mattress tucked in a scrolled sleighbed. The door knocked behind them, staff hauling in a large copper tub and buckets of water in the room.

Dropping a kiss to her hair, Alistair smiled, “Take a long bath, relax, have some quiet time. I’m going to go poke around the city, see what’s going on. We’re going to be here a few days, at least. Could go sightseeing tomorrow?”

“You spoil me,” she sighed, tugging his lips down to hers.

“I’m glad my feeble attempts at romance please you,” he teased, slipping out the cracked door, laughing as she stuck her tongue out at him. Now, to find a ring.

***

Wearing the single dress she owned that had been given to her by her friends, Kiyone skipped happily alongside Alistair, drinking in the sight of the city, tugging him this way and that as she raced between different points of interest. The bazaar particularly fascinated her, wares spread out on cloth tables from places she had never even heard of, like Seheron and Qarinus. Content to just browse, she moved from stall to stall, pointing out different things that caught her eye, begging Alistair to explain everything to her.

“That’s a talisman for Andraste. It’s a tear shape, since the legend says that Andraste shed a single tear every night She told Maferath of Her despair over the plight of Her people, and he would capture that tear in a vial. When the vial was finally full, the Maker came to Her in a vision. That one is a replica of the Sword of Mercy. That’s… a nug. A nug necklace. Do people actually buy this?” Giggling, Kiyone pulled him away from the irate shopkeeper, already entranced by the sweet smell of freshly baked fruit tarts.

Alistair watched her as she scampered about, full of wonderment like a child, exclaiming with delight over the smallest things. Like the ribbons that were on display, or those stupid little squished faced bug eyed dogs the Orlesians preferred over real dogs, like mabari. But it made her happy, which in turn, made him happy. When was the last time he had simply strolled about like this, with someone he felt totally at ease with? Had he ever? Even with Solona, there was always an edge, a fear that he was disappointing her. But Kiyone acted like he could do no wrong. Everything he did made her smile. Except snoring. She tried to smother him if he snored. So accepting of his past, she shrugged off his bastard status and his royal heritage, casually remarking that she was descended from an emperor, as well. Things like wealth and social status meant not a whit to her. It was enough that he made her smile and laugh.

Down the cobbled alley they walked, hand in hand, a rapturous expression of delight on her face as she licked the gooey strawberry jam off of her fingers. “So good,” she moaned, making him think of others things besides tarts. “Is that music?” The sound of a lute and a harp drifted on the breeze, two musicians playing a happy little tune inside of a nearby open air cafe. “It sounds like a Tourdion!” Kiyone exclaimed. “Dance with me, Alistair!”

Her hands tugged into toward the little clearing next to the railing where the musicians sat on the other side. “Uh, I can’t dance,” he pleaded, blushing under the stares of the patrons that were now eyeing them both. 

“Fine,” she shrugged. “I’ll just have to dance alone.” Giggling to herself, she kicked off her shoes and stockings, sending the nearby noblewomen into scandalized distress. Then she started to dance. Or fly, Alistair thought. Her feet pointed, she kicked up little whirlwinds of dust as she lightly pranced around on the paved walkway, spinning elegantly on almost the tips of her toes, gently swaying to the sprightly rhythm. As the music faded, she gave him a deep bow, jerking up in surprise as the patrons of the cafe and the small crowd that had gathered broke out into applause.

“Again!” someone called as the music started again, this time with a lute instead of the harp. Cocking her head to study the beat, a dreamy smile crossed her face, knees bending slightly as sprung off again, pirouetting and leaping into a full split, to the delight of the assembled. Her limbs moved as if she were water, flowing through the air, every step in sync with the song, eyes only opening when she spun, head snapping around in crisp turns. _And how the bloody hell is she dancing on her toes like that?_

“Bravo!”

“Très bon!”

“Mademoiselle, that was incredible,” a nobleman rushed up, bowing over her hand. “Wherever did you learn to dance like that?”

Kiyone blushed at the attention, folding her hands in front of her dress. “I… from my mother? As a child. I’m pleased that you enjoyed it, my lord,” she curtsied.

“Do you live here?”

“Ah,” she hesitated, searching desperately for Alistair. “No, my lord. We are just passing through.”

Dramatically sighing, the man laid his hand over his heart. “Such a tragedy. Well, if you ever decide to relocate, my dear, I would be thrilled to sponsor you. You would be the talk of Val Royeaux!”

“Now, Lord Marcet, you musn’t hog her all to yourself,” another feminine voice called. “I would also love to be your patron, should you wish it.”

“I…” Kiyone’s eyes widened. “I shall keep that in mind. Thank you, my lord, lady.” With a muffled squeak, she ran over to where Alistair was watching her, a wondrous expression on his face.

“That was beautiful,” he murmured as she tugged her boots back on. “When you said you dance, I never imagined anything like that.”

“They were offering to be my patron,” she sighed wistfully. “Wouldn’t that be the life? Rehearsing every day, dancing every night. That was what I wanted to do, you know. Before. I wanted to join a dance company when I graduated, put on performances for sold out audiences.”

His heart sank as her yearning in her voice tugged at his soul. All of the dreams she once had, hopes for her future, gone. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t seem enough to say that, but… I am.”

“Oh, love,” Kiyone smiled and patted his cheek. “I have this. And you. It’s enough.” A radiant grin broke across his face as he bent down to kiss her, pouring all of his adoration and devotion into her lips.

“Maker, I am a lucky man,” he breathed. 

With a wiggle, she nodded and chirped, “Yes, you are!”, taking his hand as they walked away from the cafe. Abruptly, her head turned, ears straining to hear the sound of running water. “This way!” A small, almost hidden path led the couple into a sprawling garden, trellises climbing with vines, heavy with large, creamy blossoms lining the walls, a sparkling pool with a tiny waterfall occupying the place of pride in the center, gold and crimson fish swimming idly about within.

“Oh, this is so lovely,” she breathed, a content smile on her lips as she leaned dreamily against a column. Spying a rose bush nearby, Alistair plucked a single bud, tucking it in her braid. _Now or never, Theirin_. He inhaled a deep breath, slowly letting it all out, feeling his lungs deflate. And then took another. And another. Maker guide him, now his bloody hands were shaking. “Ali? What’s wrong?” Dark eyes full of worry met his. Forcing a smile to his face, he gathered his resolve and her hands, and knelt. Kiyone froze, unable to even blink.

“Kiyone,” he began softly, “I love you. More than I have ever loved before and more than I will ever love again. You are… everything I could ever have hoped for. Your spirit, your generosity, your grace, your beauty- everything that makes you, you… It makes me feel as if I’m flying. You make me want to live, experience the world, to see it through your eyes and I’m finding out it is more beautiful than I imagined. I know,” he blushed now, “I’m not the best with words or things that involve thinking or what have you, but for some reason beyond my limited comprehension, you love me, too. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to go to sleep every night with you in my arms, wake up to your grumpy smile, argue and fight with you just so we can make up, be a family with you. I want to call you mine, forever. So,” his voice was trembling now, eyes holding hers unsteadily, hands fumbling as he presented her with a thin golden band, engraved with interlocking feathers, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” The word tumbled out of her mouth without hesitation. “Yes, yes, fuck yes!” Laughing, she tackled him to the soft grass under their feet, laying on top of him as she pressed a hundred kisses to his face, his hair, his hands, anywhere she could reach. Jubilant and ecstatic, Alistair flipped her over, laying her back against the ground, capturing her lips in a deep, burning kiss full of promises for the future. Their future. Together. If the past two years had taught them anything, it was that they could survive anything, as long as they had each other.

“Yes,” he murmured. “You want to marry me. _Me_. You do realize this is binding for life, right? A life with me?”

“Sounds perfect,” Kiyone hummed, cupping his cheek tenderly, smiling down into his bright blue eyes. “When do you want to get married?”

“Right now?” he suggested. Taken aback, she sat back on the grass, leaning against a tree as she stared at him. _Aren’t weddings supposed to be, like, months down the road? So you have time to prepare? And- oh. Who would come to our wedding, anyways? There’s nothing to prepare. No dress, no cake. This isn’t Earth_. Swallowing the sudden wave of homesickness, she felt his worry, tangible in his distress. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Not a damn thing. Just silly thoughts, about how wedding customs are where I’m from. But it doesn’t matter here. I want to marry you. So, right now?”

“Are you sure?” he gently took her hands in his. “We can wait if you’d rather. I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

“You’re not,” she assured him, watching as his muscles released their tension. “I want to get married. Right now. To you,” Kiyone grinned.

“Let’s go find the Chantry then.” Swinging her up with ease, he snaked his arms around her waist, hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her head back, lips and tongue trailing over hers, his heart beating a sharp counterpoint to her own.

“You’re supposed to kiss the bride after the ceremony,” she giggled into his mouth. “Getting ahead of yourself, love.”

“You’re mine, now. I can kiss you whenever I want,” he declared, kissing her again just to prove his point. Laughing like teenagers, the couple raced through the streets, climbing the hill to the massive gilded building in the center of the city, the melody of large bells tolling across the plaza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'awwwwwwww!
> 
> You can listen to the song she danced to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7eG41pUcEug). It's basically a drinking song from Renaissance France.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where all those tags start meaning things. Soooooo... yeah. READ THE TAGS.

The Chantry of Val Royeaux was like a shimmering jewel, high, pale arches balancing on engraved columns so thin, they appeared as if they would snap under the weight. A rainbow splattered across the nave, stained glass casting sparkling patches of light over the polished mahogany pews that lined the marble floor. It reminded Kiyone of the Renaissance cathedrals she had seen pictures of, similar to Notre Dame, or St. Peter’s Basilica. Ethereal, holy, and intimidating. Creeping inside the incense laden chamber, she followed Alistair as he found a sister, asking for the Revered Mother.

“We’d like to get married, please,” his cheeks felt like they would split, he was grinning so widely. Smiling indulgently down at the couple, an older woman dressed in creamy robes bearing a golden sunburst led them into a side alcove, where a smaller shrine of Andraste gently lit by dozens of candles flickering in the light lay.

“You love each other very much. The Maker and his Bride smile down upon your union,” the Revered Mother’s heart lightened at seeing all the heartfelt affection in their bright eyes. “Do you have vows prepared?” Alistair hesitantly nodded as Kiyone felt a wave of panic roll over her.

“It's, okay Ki," he assured her. "Kiyone Myeong. Before I met you, I was a shadow, bitter, and angry, barely surviving, going about the motions of my life. Then you dropped into my life, and it felt like… I could see clearly for the first time in years. Your smile, your laugh, your spirit- it brought me back, reminded me of who I was was and who I wanted to be. I am a better man for having met you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I do so swear before the Maker and the Holy Andraste, I will love you all the days of my life. I will honor and respect you, provide and protect. You will never be alone again.” His sky blue eyes gazed tenderly down at her, as his smooth voice washed over her trembling heart, clammy fingers tucked inside his shaking hands. Pulling the ring out of his pocket, he slid the slender, engraved golden band on her finger.

“My turn? Right, Um,” a breathless giggle escaped her. “Alistair Theirin. I thank G-the Maker,” she nervously glanced at the Revered Mother, “For leading me to you that fateful day. I could never have imagined that I would find my best friend in you, much less the man that would hold my heart. I have never met any quite like you, to have suffered so much, and yet your heart remains clear and kind. Your sarcasm, your stubbornness,” she teased, smiling at his sheepish glance, “Everything about you, all your quirks that make you who you are- I love them all. I love you, more than I have ever loved anyone or will love anyone ever again. So I swear before the Maker and the Holy Andraste to honor and respect you, cherish and hold you above all others, protect and defend your heart. I will never leave your side.” Feeling tears burning behind her eyes at the sight of his happiness, she slid a matching gold band, slightly wider than hers onto his finger.

“By the power granted to me by the Maker and the Divine, I hereby proclaim you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, child.” Both of them giggling, delirious with their exuberance, bliss settling over them like a warm embrace, leaned in to each other, soft lips meeting for a sweet, chaste moment, hinting of things to come. A throat clearing off to their side broke their reverie, the Revered Mother holding a quill poised over a parchment. “Your name, did you say… Theirin?”

“Uh, yes, Mother,” he muttered, ducking his head to the side. “Alistair Theirin. And Kiyone Myeong,” he added, letting his wife spell her name. His wife. They were married now, and nothing would ever break that bond.

Without further comment on his name, she offered the quill to them, indicating where they should sign, rolling up one document to file in their vault, passing the other to them to keep. “Maker’s blessing go with you both. May Andraste smile upon your union,” her wrinkled face smiled fondly at them both.

Calling out their thanks, Alistair all but dragged her out of the chantry, suddenly desperate to get back to their room. “Come along, wife,” he grinned, “I have a need to properly consummate our union.”

“Right now?” she laughed, admiring the ring on her finger than now marked her as his, and him as hers. “It’s the middle of the day, husband.”

“We just got maaaarried,” he sang, swinging her into the air, hands firmly around her waist. “Wife.” Voice dropping to a deep, husky timber, Kiyone felt a shiver trail up her spine, desire and heat coiling in her center. “Will you deny your husband his due?” A hot, wet tongue gently traced the shell of her ear, his breath tingling against her skin.

“No, my lord,” she moaned, rubbing herself wantonly against him in the middle of the street. “Take me as you wish.”

A dark chuckle rumbled through his chest as he turned cerulean eyes sharp and focused with lust on her. “The plans I have for you tonight.” Gulping, already wet from the anticipation, she followed him through the city, mind swimming in sensual want. _He’s never acted like this before, slightly dominating and possessive, yes, but not like… this_. This time with him would not be the same as before, lighthearted teasing and mutual pleasure. This time it would be-

With a feral growl, he pushed her into their room, slamming her back against the closed door as he devoured her mouth, his hands pinning her helplessly to the rough surface, lips and tongue assaulting her sweet skin as he demanded that she yield to him. “Alistair,” she moaned, already drowning in the tidal wave of his passion that threatened to consume her, “What’s gotten into you?”

“I need-” he panted against her skin, fingers tugging at the laces of her dress, “I need you to trust me. Please?” When she didn’t respond, Alistair pushed himself slightly back, taking in her wild state, eyes wide and overly bright, lips red and swollen. “Trust me,” he begged. “If it gets to be too much, tell me.”

“A safe word?” she murmured.

“Yes. Ah, say griffon. Okay?”

Trepidation swirled in her belly, mixing with the anticipation of things to come. “Okay. I trust you, Ali. Husband,” she purred. His nostrils flared at that, pupils dilating to the point where the black almost overwhelmed the blue. “I am yours to command.”

“Strip for me.” Hair rose along her arms at his quiet command, fingers grasping the hem of her dress and sliding it over her head. Locking her gaze with his, she unfastened her breastband, breasts swaying in their release, and turned around, bending over to slip her smalls off, the smooth globe of her ass wiggling at him, presenting a view of her pink cunt hidden between the brown. Unable to help himself, Alistair’s hands dug into her taut flesh, falling to his knees behind her, plunging his tongue deep inside her heat without hesitation. Gasping at the sudden onslaught, Kiyone’s hands gripped on to the bed frame in front of her, limbs trembling as he devoured her, the sounds of his moans and slurps overpowering the silence of the room.

Feeling her start to tense underneath him, he dragged himself away with great effort, pulling her to stand straight. “Bed,” he muttered hoarsely, giving her a slight shove. Stumbling to the mattress, she scooted back against the headboard, legs spread out over the sheets. One of her hands rose to massage a breast, tweaking and rolling her pert nipple between her fingers, her other hand trailing down low to swirl lazy circles around her clit, a smug smirk on her lips as she watched him struggle to undress, flinging his clothes off with more force than usual, breathing harshly. Despite his bulk, Alistair moved like a rogue, pouncing on her, dragging her down the mattress, pinning her in place with his massive erection. “Did I say you could touch yourself?”

Suddenly dizzy, she vaguely shook her head. “N-no…”

“Naughty girl,” he breathed in her ear, rubbing his swollen head, slick with precome, against her folds, creating the most delicious sounds. “I suppose I’ll have to restrain you.” Gaping at him, Kiyone felt her blood roaring through her head. _It’s going to be like that? Ohhh, dear god, I think i’m going to come from just his voice alone._ “Hands above your head, wife.” Scrambling to obey, she raised herself up, watching as he dug around in his pack. He approached her, wearing nothing but a smirk, holding a length of soft cord and a- was that a blindfold? Grabbing her wrists in front of her, he securely bond them, tight enough to where she couldn’t wiggle free but still comfortable on her skin. Satisfied with his handiwork, he looped the extra rope over her bedpost, arms extended over her head, and slipped the smooth length of black fabric over her eyes, tying it behind her head. “Now, we begin.”

Deprived of her sight, Kiyone waited with bated breath to see what he would do next. She expected him to tease, graze his rough hands over her breasts and stomach, perhaps nibble her ear. She didn’t not predict that he would grab her hips and immediately plunge in. A scream of surprise broke free from her lips as her muscles stretched to accommodate his girth, the pleasurable burn taking longer to fade than usual as he gave her no time to adjust before rearing back, thrusting himself all the way in again. “Fuck, Ali,” she groaned as he brutally fucked her. Her clit throbbed, begging for some, any attention from his hands. 

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes, please, husband, please!” She heard his smile in his approving hum.

“Too bad,” he grunted, jerking out of her slick sheath, moaning as she heard the slapping sounds of his hand pleasuring himself, a low “fuck” as hot ropes of his seed splashed across her belly. 

“Alistair?!” She gasped in disbelief. “What the fuck?”

Ignoring her outrage, he sighed happily, drawing circles in his spend, scooping some up on a fingertip. “Taste,” he commanded. Helpless to his will, Kiyone obediently opened her mouth, swiping her tongue across his rough pad, licking his finger clean. “There's a good girl.” She felt his weight settle against her legs, hands pushing her thighs further apart, his hot breath blowing against her neglected cunt. “So beautiful,” she heard him mumble, just as he pressed a wet kiss to her pearl.

“Ali, stop teasing me, please!” her hips thrust against his face, drawing a chuckle from her tormentor.

“In due time. I rather like you like this.” With that, his lips wrapped around her clit, sharply sucking on the sensitive bud, two of his long fingers sliding inside of her, wrenching a shattered cry from her lips. Curling his fingers up, her pleasure began to mount again, faster this time, his talented tongue laving slick circles around her nub, his moans vibrating through her core.

“Oh god, yesyesyesyes,” writhing underneath his ministrations, Kiyone felt her awareness rising, closer to the edge, closer- “No!” His fingers and tongue abruptly ceased, his feverish muscled bulk moving away from her. “Please!” she begged, “Fucking bastard!”

He laughed at that, the rich sound and the musky scent of her arousal filling the room. “That I am,” he cheerfully agreed. “Now…” his voice drew closer, as his teeth grazed the hollow of her throat, trailing soft kisses up to her lips, hovering just out of reach. “Elbows and knees.” She blushed as she turned over, imagining the spectacle she provided, her dripping core bared to his gaze, legs shaking with the weight of her desire. “This will do quite nicely,” he sighed happily, trailing a wet finger down her puffy folds. The sound of the bed creaking as he left her caught her attention, hearing him rustle around in his bag. “I picked up a few more… presents for you when I went out yesterday. Would you like to find out what they are?” he asked conversationally.

“I just want you to fuck me,” she groaned, face buried in the pillow. A sharp smack landed on her bottom, Kiyone squealing in shock.

“You mean I went through all that trouble to buy you a present and you don’t even care?” He spanked her again. “I’m hurt, wife.” Another slap. Her skin grew warm, burning at his touch as he continued his punishment, the hint of a pout in his voice. “You like this, don’t you?”

“No,” she lied, hips humping the air, the warm rush of her arousal dripping down her thighs.

“Maker,” he croaked. “Look at you.” The soft pop of a cork rustled behind her. “Kiyone. If this hurts, I’ll stop, okay?” Nodding and confused, she held her breath. An oily finger traced circles around her clit, her whimpers falling on deaf ears as he teased her back to the brink of her orgasm. 

She wasn’t going to survive this, she knew. She was going to spontaneously combust and- “Ooohhh!” His finger had reached the puckered ring of muscle, nestled between her cheeks, and slowly pressed against it.

“Relax, love. That’s it. Trust me,” he murmured, gently working the tip inside. Freezing, her breath locked in her chest, Kiyone waited, studying this new sensation. It wasn’t bad, far from it, just… different. Until his finger began moving. Nerve endings she didn’t even know she had lit up like fireworks as he fucked her with the single digit, ragged pants moaning into the sheets, hips thrusting back to meet him. “Fuck,” he hissed. “You love this.”

“Yes,” she wailed. “Please, Ali, more!” Unable to deny her, he slowly worked a second finger in, scissoring her open, her muscles burning as she stretched, then a third. Her mind was a numb haze of pleasure by now, her voice reduced to a series of babbles and cries, begging him for release. So close now, surely he would let her come now? 

There was to be no completion to her torture yet. Practically sobbing at the loss, she ground against the air, feeling so empty and hollow at her emptiness. “There,” he whispered, something smooth and slick poking her in the hole his fingers so recently occupied. “Can you take all of this?” Nodding violently, she felt the smooth object slide in without a hitch, hilting itself deep inside of her ass. This was so much more than his fingers, it burned like heaven, held snugly by her muscles and his hand, unmoving. “I wish you could see this. So depraved and wanton. You would do anything I said right now, wouldn’t you?” Alistair had never been so aroused in his life than right now. It was a good thing he already came once, otherwise, he would never have lasted this long. The things she was letting him do to her, _Maker_. The wooden dildo he had bought filled her tight hole perfectly, Kiyone keening under the pressure. His fingers gently reached for her clit, stroking it a couple times. “Ready, wife?” 

She must have managed some sort of affirmative response because the next thing she knew, his cock was nudging her core, the tip slowly impaling her on his length, everything so full and on fire and perfect. “Fuuuck,” she hissed, panting as she tried to relax around him. Fully seated within her, Alistair leaned over the arch of her back, desperately struggling to reign in his wavering self control. “Take me,” she demanded. He cracked. 

With a feral growl, he snapped his hips back and slammed into her, her screams sending another jolt of desire across his sweaty skin. This was the definition of ecstasy, having his wife helpless and pliant to his will, begging and moaning his name. With a free hand, continuing his forceful thrusts inside of her, he fiddled with the wooden phallus, gently twisting it, slowly fucking her ass at the same time. Her cries were somewhere between a wail and a shriek as she cursed into the pillow. Everyone in this inn probably could hear her. The idea filled him with an odd sense of pride. He hadn't used to be like this, content to just follow Solona’s lead before and submit to her. But he was done with that, done with being used as a pawn. It was Kiyone who awoke that need inside him with the way she relied on him, the urge to dominate, to have her submit. And it was awe-inspiring, to have a creature as proud and magnificent as she, bound before him, willingly accepting everything he asked of her. It was poetic, really, for he knew as soon as they left this bed, he would be the one at her mercy. For the rest of his life. And he would have it no other way. “Come for me, love. I need you to come.”

Abandoning the dildo still deep inside of her, his fingers sought her pearl, rubbing brisk and firm circles over the tender nub. Bucking against his thick member, still brutally fucking her as his other arm held her in place, she finally came. Her vision flashed a blinding white, the edges faded into shadow as electricity cracked down her skin and the flame from the candles flared as she lost control, screaming wordlessly as every nerve in her body overloaded with the force of her orgasm. Alistair joined her seconds later, growling against her skin as he filled her with his seed, pulsing in time with her spasming walls.

Weightless, she floated, lost in a hazy bliss, barely noticing as he slipped the wooden phallus out of her, gathering her back against his slippery chest, sighing contentedly into her hair. “Was that okay?”

“Okay,” she snorted. “Alistair, that was… _transcendent_. Where did that come from, anyways?”

“I’ve always wanted to do that with you,” he blushed, glad she couldn’t see his sudden embarrassment. “But I wanted to wait, I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I wanted you to trust me completely first.”

“Shit was hot,” she mumbled, exhaustion overtaking her body. “Do it again?”

Alistair laughed, low in his throat. “Anytime you want, wife.”


	11. Chapter 11

Nothing really changed for either of them following their marriage, which was just they way they preferred it. Life went on much as it had before, save the two golden bands each now wore. Lorcan and Aislinn were overjoyed for both of them, albeit she was a little surprised to learn they weren’t already married, from they way that the couple had acted. 

The lands of Orlais were beautiful, verdant green idyllic countryside with small villages dotting the landscape in between the larger cities, like the setting from a fairy tale. _Once upon a time_ … Alistair and Kiyone did their job admirably well, keeping the small family safe from bandits, wolves, bears, and even darkspawn. She shuddered at the remembrance of the monstrous creatures. 

The caravan had been traveling south, along the western shore of Lake Celestine. The taint in Alistair’s blood was able to sense them, not far to the west of the road they were upon. There had to be a decent sized army of them out there for him to feel them this far east. Or they were closer than he thought. The Western Approach was just beyond this forest. And Adamant, the old Grey Warden fortress. Eyes and ears alert, he had scanned the woods beyond them.

“Trouble?” Kiyone had murmured.

“Darkspawn, somewhere to the west. I’m not sure how far or how many. Listen, if we get attacked, do not get any of their blood inside you. It carries the Blight. There is no cure for Blight sickness,” his eyes were grave as he looked over at her. “Let me take point if they come for us. You will need to keep them safe,” he motioned to their friends.

“Let’s pray they stay far away then,” she shivered, warily watching the trees. Up ahead, the tree thinned out a bit as they crested a high ridge, the desert visible as a shimmering line of gold that stretched the length of the western horizon, the Gamordan Peaks looming to the south.

“Should reach Val Firmin in two more weeks,” Lorcan called back. “According to the map, there’s a small inn just up ahead. We can stop there for the night.”

Mumbling an affirmative response, Alistair leaned back against the rail, still probing the area with his consciousness. It was too quiet. No sounds of birds chirping or squirrels rustling in the trees. Just silence and- “Dammit. Messere Lorcan! Run! Darkspawn!” He bellowed, lurching to stand, glaring at the edge of the forest.

Wordlessly gaping, the merchant immediately did as he was told, cracking the reins against the horses’ bits, jolting the wagon as they raced along the path at full speed. Kiyone froze, hands on her dagger hilts, as she spotted them sprinting onto the road, howling their inhuman screams as they burst out of the treeline. _They’re like something out of a bad scifi flick. Except real._ They were... skulls with a thin layer of decomposing skin stretched over it, as tall as a human, wearing mismatched bits of bloodied and rusted armor, battered sword wickedly glinting in the sunlight. “Fucking hell. Can we outrun them?” she breathed.

“We could, but then they would attack others in the area. I have to take them down. Remember,” Alistair hissed, “Don’t let their blood get in you.” Nodding, her ashen face stricken by her terror, Kiyone gripped onto the wagon as they sped away towards open land. “Messere! Let us off here, and head for the top of that hill and wait on us.”

“But Alistair-”

“Lorcan. Get your family to safety,” he ordered. “Come on, Ki.” Glancing at his wife, his sharp eyes softened by a fraction. “Just watch my back okay? I got this.” Numbly, she watched him rush down the road in the opposite direction they came from, a battle cry on his lips as he crashed into the first monster. _Jesus fucking Christ. Is he seriously going to try to take them all on by himself? Stop being scared. Just another battle. Just another battle._ Taking a deep breath to fill her lungs near to bursting, Kiyone charged in after him, daggers drawn as she tackled one of the darkspawn to the ground.

“Think they’re far enough away?”

Grunting, Alistair yanked his sword out of a creature’s chest, black ichor dripping into the grass, ducking the swing of another. “Yep. Hit them.” Leaping out of her way, he watched as a large inferno set the hurlocks aflame, panic rippling through their ranks as they scattered, making them easy targets for the former Grey Warden to chase down. With a mighty thrust, the last monster’s head rolled away, face frozen in a gruesome rictus of anger and fear. Sighing, he turned away. “Are you alright, love? Any injuries?” Shaking her head, the stench of the decaying flesh and the sight of the creatures finally overwhelmed her, bile rising in her throat as she sprinted for a bush, retching. A warm hand laid on her back, rubbing soothing circles. “I know, it’s horrible. I spent over a year fighting these things nonstop and still they get to me, too.”

Trembling, her gagging eventually ceased, Kiyone slumping in the nearby grass. “Should we burn the bodies?”

“Can you?”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Just gimme a sec.” Slowly, each body smoldered as she carefully set each on fire, leaving only twisted, charred corpses in their wake. “Let’s get back to them.” Wrapping his arm around her, Alistair pulled her in close for a brief kiss.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, love.”

“‘S okay. Not like you had any control over it.” As they trudged up the hill to where the wagon waited, Lorcan ran out to meet them halfway down the slope.

“Thank the Maker you’re both alive! I thought, surely… There were so many,” he wrung his hands. “How did you know they were even there? I thought only Grey Wardens could sense the darkspawn.”

“Intuition,” Alistair had shrugged. “Are we ready to head on? I think I could use that inn about now. And a bath.”

Darkspawn, she thought glumly. Kiyone had seen her husband in dozens, possibly hundreds of battles over these last few years, but seeing him fight those Blighted creatures… He had been on a whole other level. Like that was what he was born to do. His movements had become faster, more nimble, stronger. And the darkspawn had recognized the song in his blood, flocking to him like he was one of their own. It was highly disturbing. But there was no doubt in her mind that he was one of the legendary Grey Wardens that people spoke about in hushed, reverent tones.

Montsimmard in particular had been hard for him, being the headquarter of the Orlesian branch of Wardens. During the four days they had stayed in the city, Alistair had remained almost entirely indoors, hiding in their room, faking a cold while Kiyone had accompanied Aislinn and Maeve around the city herself. His fear had been that the Wardens would have sensed him, and they would have forced him back in their ranks. But a part of her knew he missed it. That, had it not been for her, he would have gone back, even willingly. But the Order would not have looked upon their marriage favorably, nor let her accompany him on his missions. She would be left behind, alone in whatever town they decided to settle in, and he would have to go for months at a time, or even longer. And that was a life neither of them wished for.

The remaining months had passed by rather uneventfully, their caravan winding its way east along the Imperial Highway, passing through Verchiel, Lydes, and Halamshiral, Jader being their final stop. Now, the Frostback Mountains towered above them, just to the south. Just over those mountains lay Ferelden. Being this close to his homeland, Alistair grew more pensive as the days rolled on, the letter Teagan had left burning a hole in his pack. He could go back. Settle there with Kiyone. Or they could stay in Orlais. Glancing over at where his wife was perched atop a high rock, overlooking their small camp and the valley below, he ambled over to her. “Hey, you.”

“He speaks at least,” she teased, leaning down to ruffle his shaggy hair.

“Sorry about that. I’ve had a lot on my mind,” he admitted, ruefully shrugging up at her. “I was thinking… What do you want to do after this?”

“It’s almost done, isn’t it?” she mused, looking over to where Lorcan and his family lay sleeping around the dying embers of the campfire. “It’ll be strange to be off the road. And without them. I’ve grown used to them. And Maeve. Hey, tell me,” she cocked her head to one side, studying him, “Did you want kids?”

“I-” _I never told her. Maker, I’m such an idiot. I never told her about the side effects of the taint._ Lowering his eyes, shamefully, he found himself unable to meet her dark gaze. “I do, but… It’ll be hard. Wardens, we- The taint. It makes it extremely difficult to conceive. Almost impossible.”

“Oh,” her voice was a soft whisper.

Hesitantly, he looked up at her, reaching out to take her hand. “I’m so sorry, Ki. I should have told you before. It could still happen.”

“Yes, you should have told me,” she sighed. “But it doesn’t matter, I guess. I was never sure if I wanted kids or not, but the option would have been nice. I suppose there’s always adoption, right?” Her smile was tired, not quite reaching her eyes, but she squeezed his hand, letting him know she wasn’t truly mad at him.

“As many as you want,” he promised. As she patted the rock next to her, Alistair clambered up the rough boulder to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “So, where to next?”

Kiyone gazed up at the stars, millions of tiny sparkling lights dancing in the velvety midnight sky. “Did you want to go back to Ferelden?”

“I… I don’t know. I mean, we could, now that I have the official pardon from Anora. Is that what you want to do?”

“What would we do? For a living, I mean.”

“Town watch? City guard? If we found a small enough village, we could barter our services to protect the town in exchange for food or pay.”

“Would I like it there?”

“Honestly?” he smiled over at her. “It’s cold. Lots of snow in the winter. Cheese isn’t as good. But there are dogs. And it’s less pretentious than Orlais. The people are more… real? I suppose is the word I’m looking for.”

“We could go check it out,” she suggested. “Would you mind if we also checked out that forest that the barkeep told us about to the south of the Dales? Emerald something. He said it was a beautiful place.”

“Of course, love,” he gathered her in closer to his chest. “Anything for you.”

***

Saying goodbye to Lorcan, Aislinn, and little Maeve was harder than she anticipated. The months of shared close quarters with the family had brought them together, giving them a sense of kinship Kiyone sorely missed. Maeve sobbed, clutching the woman’s legs tightly, refusing to let her go. “We will miss you dearly,” Aislinn murmured, her own eyes brimming with tears. “The Maker was truly smiling down upon us the day He sent you to us.”

“We wouldn’t have made it without you,” Lorcan clasped Alistair’s arm, pulling him in for a fierce embrace. “Here is the rest of your pay, plus a bonus for seeing us all safe in our new home.”

“Messere, this is too much,” the former Warden protested.

“Nonsense,” the merchant waved away his concerns. “My family is safe. There is nothing I would not pay for that. Buy your little house for you and your wife. And if you ever have need of me, you know where to find me.”

Thanking them profusely, the couple had set back upon the road, heading east into Gherlen’s Pass, crossing over into Ferelden, Lake Calenhad glimmering on the distant horizon. They had been been in Alistair’s homeland for all of two days before he decided he did not want to continue. “Too many memories,” he muttered, as he turned them around on the Imperial Highway, heading away from Redcliffe and back for the Frostback Mountains and Jader. “Let’s go check out the forest south of the Dales.”

The weather grew cooler as they traveled south along the base of the mountains, autumn descending on the country, chasing the heat of summer away. The Dales had a desolate beauty to them, Kiyone listening raptly as Alistair told her stories about the elves that had once lived in this land, only to have their civilization destroyed by the Chantry. “Fucking barbaric,” she spat, bristling with righteous fury for all that the elves had suffered just because of their race. “Stupid racist pricks.” Alistair agreed wholeheartedly. 

Rolling, barren plains dotted with short, rough dead grasses eventually gave way to life, a forest rising up around them that looked like something out of a painting. Trees as high, if not higher, than the sequoias she had once visited towered over the lush woodland floor, draped in soft, pillowy mosses and springy cover. Butterflies and hummingbirds, flitting around like tiny winged jewels, darted in and out of vibrant, velvety petals of every sort of flower imaginable, draping across mammoth tree branches and ancient stone ruins left from the Elvhen who once roamed this land.

A tiny hamlet, barely large enough to be called a village, lay nestled in between the massive trees, close to the edge of the Emerald Graves, about a day’s walk from the main road. “What do you think?” Alistair murmured, pulling her into his chest as they both stood on a high crest, overlooking the little cottages that lined the crystal clear river that ran through the cluster of homes. 

“It’s so… peaceful,” she sighed happily. “And this place is absolutely gorgeous.”

“Shall we go inquire about housing and work then?” he grinned, gallantly stepping away to flourish a courtly bow at his wife, proffering his hand.

“But of course, Ser Theirin,” she giggled as he spun her around, pausing only to drop a tender kiss to her lips. 

There were probably less than twenty homes, all arranged haphazardly in a semblance of a town square, one small wooden tavern in the center of the village, the glow from the fire inside and muffled voices spilling out into the dirt path. Hesitantly, Alistair pushed the rough door open, one hand securely around Kiyone’s.

“Welcome, traveler,” a grizzled old man called in a surprisingly familiar accent from behind the bar, exposing several missing teeth as he grinned at the couple. “Come in, come in, take a load off. Not often we get visitors way out here. Where ya headed?”

“Actually,” sitting down on the worn bench, Alistair offered his most charming smile, “We were looking to relocated. Settle down somewhere new. Just checking out the area right now.”

“Oh?” The man raised a bushy gray eyebrow, leaning his arms on the counter, “Name is Robert. Wife is Claire,” he motioned to a stout woman, the back of her skirts just visible inside the door of the kitchen behind him. “It’s a pretty quiet town, but we like it. Came here when the Blight swept through Ferelden and haven't had any desire to go back, even if it is technically Orlais," the men shared a knowing chuckle. "Got any skills?”

“We’re both former mercenaries, so good with fighting. Beyond that,” he shrugged, smiling sheepishly at his wife, “We’re fast learners. This is my wife, Kiyone.”

“Pleasure to meet ya, madam. Good with a sword, you say? How you do against bears and bandits? We gotta problem with both,” he sighed, pouring them both a mug of cool, crisp ale. “Most of us are farmers ‘round here. Got one blacksmith, and that’s about it. None of us really know the first thing about fighting them off.”

“We can do that,” Kiyone smiled brightly at the man, giving Alistair’s hand an excited squeeze. 

Robert nodded at them both, calling back out to his wife, “Claire! Bring out two plates, will you darlin’? As for you two, you keep the village safe, we’ll see you well taken care of with provisions and the like. There’s a small cottage that’s been empty since old man Louis died last winter. Nothing fancy, but should be big enough for the two of you for now. So you from Ferelden?” he glanced over at Alistair, who was already stuffing his face with the mincemeat pie Claire had set before him.

“He is,” Kiyone responded for him dryly. “I’m from Kirkwall.”

“Ah,” the innkeeper pursed his lips. “Terrible bit about the chantry there. Maker rest their souls.”

“What about the chantry?”

“You haven’t heard the news?”

“No,” she shook her head, frowning. “We’ve been on the road for a very long time.”

“Apostate blew up the chantry. Killed the Grand Cleric. The First Enchanter turned into an abomination. The Knight-Commander tried to annul the circle there, but the Champion stopped her. They said she turned into a statue,” he shivered. “Some kinda new lyrium. The city was pretty much destroyed in the fighting.”

“Maker,” Alistair croaked hoarsely. “I guess we left just in time.”

Kiyone’s eyes widened, her heart dropping into her stomach. “We need to get a letter out to Hawke. Make sure he’s okay. You don’t think the apostate responsible…”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” he muttered. “So, about that house, my good man. Can we go see it now?” Throwing a few coins on the counter, Alistair stood up, stretching out tired muscles.

“‘Course,” Robert nodded. “I’ll take you there myself. Claire, I’m taking these people to see Louis’ old place. Be back in a few.” Together, they stepped back outside, a few lanterns now lit in the dusky light of the setting sun, illuminating their path as they followed the old man to the outskirts of town. “Louis was a bit of a hermit, so his place is outside of the village square. Ah, here it is.” Pushing back the brush that had grown in absence of a caretaker, he stopped in front of a small clearing, the forest dense around the edges. A sturdy wooden cabin lay in the center, a small, unkempt garden plot just outside the front entrance.

“Roof will have to be redone,” Alistair squinted up at the ceiling, the first stars of the night visible through a few openings in the thatching. Pushing open the door, wincing at the loud squeal of rusty hinges, he knocked on the walls. “Sturdy. Just need a few cosmetic updates, I think. What do you think?”

It was dirty, Kiyone mused, but that could be easily fixed. The house was divided down the center, to the right was the main living area, a large fireplace lined with smooth river stones against the far wall. The left side was split up into a small bedroom, just large enough for the solid four poster bedframe and a oak dresser, and a kitchen, an iron wood burning stove tucked into the corner. “It’s perfect.”

“I can send some of the lads by tomorrow to get you started on fixing things up,” Robert passed the key over to Alistair. “Anything else you two need, just swing by the tavern and let me know.”

“Thank you, for everything, serrah,” Kiyone grinned eagerly, ready to start settling into their new home.

“Just Robert will do nicely. Have a good night, folks.” As the door closed, they both dropped their packs to the dusty floor, Alistair opening his arms wide.

“So? You really like it?”

“It’s just what we need,” she giggled, throwing herself against his chest. “We could be happy here. What do you think? I mean, we are in Orlais.”

“Eh, if another fellow Ferelden likes it, I think I'll manage. Plus farmers and laborers are no where near the same as nobles. I think we will be happy,” Alistair declared huskily, nuzzling her neck as he leaned in closer. “What say you we christen this place, hmm?”

“Let’s get a fire started first, love. Then, I’m all yours.”

“Yes, you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the idea of Alistair living in a tiny village with his wife, far away from politics and scheming. I think he'd be happy like that. Also, I would move to the Emerald Graves in a heartbeat giants be damned. So pretttyyyyyy.


	12. Chapter 12

Mornings like these were his favorite. The first rays of dawn trickled in through the windows, the scent of fresh hay in his nose, watching tiny motes of dust dance in the rays of light that lay across her sleeping form. Rosy lips slightly open, her hair a tangled mess, Alistair smiled as she grunted in her sleep, her naked back snuggling against his chest, toned legs intertwined with his, her soft skin rubbing against his hairy limbs. Gently, he tucked his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, feeling his erection nestle against the firm curves of her ass. A particularly long breath caught in her lungs as he snaked his hand up, tracing faint lines along the underside of her breasts, skin prickling into goosebumps from the attention.

“Mmm,” she moaned sleepily. “Alistair…” Hiding his grin, he lifted his fingers higher, deftly pinching a pebbled nipple, rolling the pert bud between his callouses.

“Yes, love?”

Sighing happily, she rubbed her back against him, smiling at the feel of his already rock hard member poking her insistently in her back. “Gonna do something about that?”

Burying his face in her hair, he groaned at the feel of her, removing his fingers from her breasts and pushing them down, teasing apart her already wet folds. “In a minute. I’m rather enjoying this.” Kiyone whimpered softly as his knowledgeable hands drew out her pleasure, circling the tiny nub that made her dizzy and her skin flushed with desire. “Maker. I never get tired of this.” It was just a few months shy of four years that they had been married now, and still, he couldn’t get enough of her. Even the most mundane parts of life, her cooking, him cleaning their weapons by the fire, her cursing at a needle while trying to darn their clothes, him trying to help out by cooking, and subsequently burning breakfast- it was all more than he ever dreamed of. And this. Going to sleep every night with her wrapped up in his arms, except for the hottest parts of summer where she would kick him to the opposite side of the bed and forbid him to cuddle her, and waking up to her sweet smile, this was his favorite part. Just the simple knowledge that she was here for him, loving him.

She cried out as he slid his fingers out of her, coming to rest on her bottom instead, hands pushing apart her legs to slip inside of her from behind. The initial sensation of his thick cock stretching her apart never failed to make her gasp with the pleasurable burn, fueling her lust even further as he fitted perfectly against her. Rutting her from behind, Alistair resumed his ministrations to her swollen clit, just on the edge of the pressure and cadence that she needed. “Alistair, please,” she begged, hips moving in time with his as she struggled to get him deeper.

“You know, I could do this all day,” he murmured, drawing an earlobe between his teeth and nibbling the soft skin. “Keep you on the edge, right here, for hours.” Unsure whether or not she wanted that, Kiyone merely whimpered, reaching back to tangle her fingers in his shaggy hair. Gripping the strands, she yanked hard, causing him to hiss as he rose up over her, giving her ass a firm slap. “Going to be like that, are we? So be it. On your stomach, wench.” She giggled as she rolled over, his shaft still snug within her. Drawing back, he slammed into her with all of the force contained in his muscled abs and strong hips, wrenching a breathy scream from her lips. “It’s a good thing we live outside of the town, else you’d keep everyone awake with all the noise you make,” he grinned smugly.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” she retorted, muffling her next shriek in her pillow anyways. He loved all the ways he took her, but this was one of his favorites, his hands digging into her firm ass, the curve of her spine so enticing, the angle of her sweet cunt just enough for him to go deeper than any other position. The only thing that would make it better was if he could see her when she came.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he grunted, picking up a rougher pace, making the whole bed creak as he fucked her into submission, her cries rising in pitch and intensity as she pleaded with him to let her come. Desperately, he tried to hold on to the last vestiges of his self control, but the way she moaned his name was too much for him. His fingers teased at her arousal, finding the perfect rhythm to make her scream, walls clenching around his pulsing cock as he spilled deep inside of her with a breathless shout. Together, they slumped back onto the mattress, sweat and come intermingling on the sheets below them, both gasping for breath in the chilly predawn air.

Rolling over, she smiled lazily up at him, reaching up to brush a lock of his hair from his forehead. “Good morning.”

“It is, isn’t it,” he grinned back impishly. 

“We need to go check those traps today,” Kiyone yawned, arching her back in such a way that it pushed her ample breasts up, and how could he pass that up? Leaning down, he captured a sensitive nipple in his mouth, biting the brown tip as she yelped, smacking him on the head. “Hey, you! Stop that!”

“Sorry,” he laughed, dancing eyes indicating he was anything but. 

“Relentless,” she muttered, giving him one last affectionate shove, pausing to frown as the sunlight lit up the dark circles under his eyes. “Still having trouble sleeping, love?”

“A bit,” he shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Hmm. Maybe Mathilde will have some more of that lavender and chamomile extract. I’ll drop by later. Come on, we have work to do, you lecher.”

Shrieking, she leapt out of his mock angry grasp, giggling as she sprinted across the cabin, throwing her clothes on to shield herself from his tickles. She paused momentarily to watch him as he dressed, admiring her husband's body. The past few years had been kind to them both, that lean, hungry, gaunt look they had while on the road giving way to softer, fuller flesh and a healthy glow. Glancing up, he smirked as he noticed her appreciative stare. "See something you like?"

"Perhaps," she shrugged nonchalantly. "You've filled out quite nicely, you know."

"Are you implying I've gotten fat?" he gasped, hand clapped dramatically over his heart.

"You said it, not me," she giggled, neatly evading him as he leapt to tackle her again. They were both still acting like a pair of children, laughing as they chased each other out of their cabin, heading down the path to the forest, waving as they passed a few of their friends on the road.

Alistair first heard it as they were cresting a ridge just past the river, the first bear trap a few hundred feet ahead. Frowning, he turned his head to the left, scanning the trees around them.

“Trouble?”

“Um… No, just thought I heard something.” He had lied to her, for the first time ever. A sickening pit instantly formed in his stomach, but... The nightmares were getting worse. And this just confirmed what he already knew to be happening. _I never told her about the Calling. I had hoped we’d have at least 10 more years, but I guess not. She’s going to kill me._

“Ugh, empty,” she scowled at the empty trap. “Might have to track it the old fashioned way.”

“Looks like it came near,” he crouched down, pointing at the tracks impressed into the thick moss. “Let’s go after it.” _It’s still faint. We still have time._

***

The ale that Robert made helped. So did sex. And fighting. It was the quiet, the formerly comfortable silence that they had once enjoyed that drove him to distraction. So he took to spending a lot of his nights in the tavern, sometimes with Kiyone, sometimes without, in an effort to drown out the haunting melody that snaked its way into his brain.

“Did you hear the news? Divine is calling a conclave beginning of next year. Trying to get the mages and templars together.”

“I heard it was going to be in Haven, at the temple where the Hero of Ferelden found Andraste’s ashes.”

“You don’t actually believe that nonsense, do you?”

Frowning, Alistair downed his mug in one long gulp, suddenly disenchanted with the direction of this conversation. “See you gentlemen later.”

“Take care, Alistair!” Nodding to the other men, he pushed his way outside, wincing slightly as the song returned in full force, barely muted by the alcohol. Haven. There was a place he never expected to hear of again. He had gone there, with her. There had been a dragon. Briefly, he wondered if she was hearing this, too. Ambling down the narrow path, he shuffled his way back into the woods, hands in his pockets as he stared at the stars, twinkling just beyond the treetops, guided by the light of the full moons. _I should tell her. It’s getting worse. It won’t be that much longer now._ He gathered up all his strength outside of their cozy cottage, leaning his head against the rough wood of the window frame as he watched her wistfully through the glass. She was curled up in front of the fire with a book in her lap, dressed in his sweater and a pair of ratty leggings, jet black hair brushed out around her shoulders and gleaming in the rosy light. So peaceful. And he was about to destroy it. Her head jerked up as she saw him slink in, offering him a tentative smile. Her own eyes were slightly sunken in now as well, her sleep affected by his tossing and cries every night.

“Hey, you,” she patted the rug next to her. “How was the tavern?”

“Fine,” he clipped, dropping down to sit next to her with a heaving sigh, pushing his hair back.

“Ali…” she reached out a hand to him.

Bitterly, he shook his head. “Don’t. I need to tell you something.”

Carefully, she placed her book down and turned to face him, her face sudden impassive. “You know you can tell me anything, love.”

“Grey Wardens,” he began haltingly, “We… There’s more I never told you. Technically, I’m bound under oath not to tell anyone, but… The taint. It’s a death sentence,” his words rushed out bluntly as he stared at the fire, afraid to meet her eyes. “It’s basically the Blight sickness. I thought I had more time, but… It starts off as nightmares. Then you start hearing a song, the same one the darkspawn hear underground, calling them to find an Old God. Eventually the melody overwhelms you, to the point where it’s all you can hear. And then we know it’s time. At the end, we journey down into the Deep Roads, to find our death in battle, rather than be turned into a ghoul.”

The silence was unbearable. The sound of the logs crackling in the hearth screamed into the small room, his own heartbeat reverberating through his head. _Say something, say something_ \- Abruptly, Kiyone stood up and sprinted outside, disappearing into the night. _Ki_ … Should he let her have her space? Let her process it all first? _No. She shouldn’t be alone for this_. Alistair raced after her, following the sounds of her footsteps crashing through the brush. Bursting into a small clearing, he skidded to a stop, Kiyone hunched over a large boulder, hyperventilating. “You-” she gasped, her back turned towards him. “You’re dying?”

“We’re all dying, love. I’m just going a little bit faster than you, that’s all.” His wry humor was not appreciated at that moment, his realization hitting him a moment too late as she spun around to face him, dark eyes blazing.

“You’re _dying_. And you’re going to leave me, to go seek your death even sooner. And you never thought to tell me?” Her hands were clenched into trembling fists as she glared at him, tears now falling freely down her cheeks. “You’ve been- been dealing with all this on your own for months, hiding it from me for what? Why?” she demanded.

“My own selfishness,” he whispered, dropping his head shamefully. “I wanted the last little bit of a time I had left with you to be a little bit more carefree. I didn’t want you to worry.”

She barked out a short, brittle bark of laughter. “Didn’t want me to worry. While I’ve been over here, going out of my mind, because I knew something was wrong and you would tell me nothing. I thought-” she choked, “I thought you were getting tired of me. I thought you were thinking of leaving me.”

“No!” He gasped, rushing over to crush her to his chest, “Never. I love you, more than anything Kiyone. That has never changed. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I”m so sorry,” a sob cracked his voice as he cried into her hair, her own tears soaking his scratchy, homespun sweater. “It’s not at it’s worst yet. I can bear it still. I’m not going anywhere yet.”

“I don’t want you to go anywhere ever,” she hiccuped, burying her face against his chest. “I’m coming with you when you go.”

“No,” he vehemently shook his head. “You’ll stay here.”

“Ali-”

“Please, Kiyone,” he breathed. “I don’t want you to see me like that. I want you to remember me as I am now. The years we’ve shared together. Healthy and whole. When I go down there, I’ll be… barely a husk. Please. Stay here, where you’re safe.”

“I don’t want you to be alone. I _promised_ you, dammit.”

“I won’t be alone. The Legion of the Dead, a group of dwarven warriors, will meet me when I go down. And you’ll still be with me. You’re always with me,” he whispered. “We’ve got time still. And I intend to make each moment count,” he hoarsely murmured, tilting her chin up. _Maker. Even with her face red and swollen, her nose dripping, she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen_. “I love you. So much.” His lips met hers in a wild kiss, as if he were trying to devour her soul whole. “Come back home?”

Sniffing, she nodded, letting him lead her back through the forest, her emotions dulled to a numb point. _Make every moment count._

***

She tried to put on a brave face for him, she really did. But he noticed that her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. That her laughs were almost abrasive underneath the cheerful sound. That her eyes were slowly losing their luster. That her once healthy, toned frame, was slowly wasting away, ribs now showing where muscle used to lay. If this was how it was now, what would she be like when he was gone? She would need friends to get her through this. Maybe he could convince Hawke, or Varric to come get her?

The song and his wife were his constant companions now, going everywhere with him. They barely spent more than a minute or two apart each day. Their couplings were now frantic, desperation coloring their desire. Maybe he could get her pregnant. That way she would always have a piece of him. Would that be fair though? To leave her alone to raise their child? Alistair stared out into the darkness of their room, Kiyone curled up against his skin, softly whimpering in her sleep. They would have a girl, he decided as he pressed a kiss to her cool hair, drawing the woolen blanket around them more tightly. She would have black hair and dark eyes like her mother. With his nose. Her lips. She would be a happy child, mischievous like him, with a temper like her mother, he thought, smiling to to himself.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No,” he sighed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Please. I can hear you brooding in my dreams,” she teased. “What’s on your mind?”

“You. As always,” he kissed her on her nose. “Just thinking of when we first met. That first night we slept next to each other in that crappy, ale soaked tavern. I thought you were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen."

"I thought you had abducted me," she snorted. "Some crazy guy who had kidnapped me."

"Could you blame me?" chuckling, he pulled back from her. "You know, you should go back to Val Royeaux. See about getting a patron, dance for a living. That would make you happy, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Maybe.”

“Ki…”

“Just…” shaking her head, she gripped onto his solid biceps, pulling him closer. “I need you, Alistair. Please.”

“Always,” he promised, even though they both knew it was a lie now, rolling over to rest himself between her legs. “Always.”


	13. Chapter 13

The snow was finally beginning to melt, to Kiyone’s relief. Luckily, the massive canopy of trees had blocked the worst of the winter storms, but they still received a liberal sprinkling of ice and snow that made her life extra miserable. And then she realized- melting snow meant mud. Cursing at the softening ground, she stomped down the road, beyond ready to be inside of their warm, dry cottage, snuggled up in front of the fire with her husband. He looked so tired these days, and it was getting worse by the week. And there was nothing she could do, except love him. It didn’t seem like it was enough, even though he assured her it was more than what he needed. She wanted to do more.

Sighing as she pulled her boot from the mud with a thick squelch, she pushed open the front door and sighed in bliss at the wave of heat that welcomed her. Alistair glanced up from where he sat crosslegged on the ground, mending a tear in his leather gloves. "There you are. I was beginning to worry."

"You know how Claire loves to talk," Kiyone rolled her eyes. "And talk and talk. What do you feel like for supper? Still have some of that elk left I could cook tonight,” she mused as she plopped down next to him, stretching out like a cat in front of the fire. Nodding, he flashed her a grin, reaching over to ruffle her hair.

“However you cooked it two days ago was amazing.”

“I can do that again. Shit, what is that racket outside?" Peering outside the window, she squinted into the twilight. "Hey, is that a raven?” A large bird sat perched outside of their cabin, patiently waiting on someone to acknowledge it, a small tube tied to its leg.

“Message? From... Stroud,” Alistair frowned, pulling a rolled up scrap of parchment out, digging out a treat to toss to the bird. His pale blue eyes quickly scanned the note. “Andraste preserve me.”

“What? Who's Stroud?” Suddenly frightened, she watched as all the blood drained from his face, the paper rattling in his shaking hands. “What does it say?”

“He- It-” he shook his head. “Here.”

Snatching the note from his limp grip, she read the messy handwriting. “The Calling may not be real?!” she gasped. “'I've spent the past several weeks investigating. All the Wardens are hearing the Calling at once right now. Think it’s related to Corypheus. Hawke going to the Inquisition for help. Would love for you to come along. Meet in Crestwood, cave marked on the map on the back. Tell you more later.'” Looking up, she watched as Alistair took deep breaths, leaning against their doorframe. “Who’s Stroud? And Corypheus?”

“Stroud is a Grey Warden. Our paths crossed a few times in Kirkwall. Decent fellow. Corypheus is... an ancient darkspawn magister. You remember Robert talking about the creature who attacked Haven? That’s the same. He was sealed in a old Grey Warden fortress. Hawke killed him. Or so he thought, I guess.”

“You think this has anything to do with those scary templars with the red crystals we’ve been seeing recently?”

“Probably. World’s gone mad.”

“So… Crestwood. Guess we should start packing. Where is it, anyways?”

“You want to go?” He appeared startled, head jerking back. 

“Of course! There’s a chance your Calling isn’t real, Alistair. We might have more time. We need to go,” she begged.

“It might be-”

“I don’t care. There is a possibility that we still have a future, and even if I’m grasping at straws, there is a chance. We are going.”

Alistair beamed down at her. “Alright. We’ll go. Let’s pack, and tell the others. We'll need warmer supplies. It’s going to be cold, crossing the Frostbacks this time of year.”

“Of course it will be,” she groaned. “God, the things I do for you.”

***

Predictably, Alistair grew quieter the closer they got to Ferelden, but this time, he seemed more comfortable with his homeland than he had when they first tried to investigate. The waters of Lake Calenhad sparkled to their right as they traveled along the Imperial Highway, an ominous dark tower rising from the blue waters.

“That’s Kinloch. Home to the Circle of Magi,” he pointed to the island.

“Where all that shit happened?”

“Yes.” Scrubbing his eyes, as if he could wipe the memory of it from his mind, he sighed, draping an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not so bad here this time. It’s actually almost… nice. How everything feels so familiar.”

“Ferelden is very…” she searched the land around them, studying the sparse trees and new growth beginning to sprout, signifying the beginning of spring, “Brown.”

Throwing his head back, Alistair laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in months, from deep within his belly. “That it is,” he grinned. “There’s a lovely aroma of wet dog that permeates the air as well, can you tell?”

“A bit,” she wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of dogs, can we get one- mmph!” His lips smothered hers, hands lifting her off the ground as he spun her in the air, pack and all. “Jesus, Alistair, what was that for?”

“You want a dog,” he replied happily. “There’s a good breeder down in Redcliffe. We can go there, after. Maybe.” A frown creased his brow as he thought about it. I wonder if Eamon and Teagan are both still there. If they would be happy to see me." A familiar hand squeezed his comfortingly. 

“We’ll go if you want. I'm sure they would be thrilled to see you.”

The journey passed by smoothly as they traveled further east, the grassy plains eventually giving way to rolling hills and jagged mountains as they turned north off the highway, heading for the coast. Then the rain began. It started as a mist at first, barely a nuisance, turning everything damp. The closer they got to Crestwood, the heavier the downpour became, to the point where Kiyone cursed every step they took, boots dragging through the mud.

“Wait,” Alistair grabbed her arm. “Wardens up ahead. We need to go around then. Way around. Come on, let’s go this way.” Slowly, they back up along the road, opting to venture off into the hills that ran along the base of the cliffs. Hefting her staff in her hand, grimacing at the now unfamiliar weight of it, she softly whistled to get his attention. “Bandits,” she hissed, gathering her mana.

Almost in perfect synchronization after all the years they spent fighting side by side, they raced to meet the highwaymen, a flame rushing across the field to greet the men as Alistair took the opportunity to shield bash the largest one to the ground. Slamming her staff into the ground, she threw up a barrier around them both, pushing her magic out into an inferno that set the other two ablaze, despite the dampness of their leather armor. Yelping, she leapt back as she cast an arc of electricity jumped through all the bandits, frying them to a burnt crisp, a dagger barely grazing past her head to bury itself in the chest of the last enemy. The former Warden and his wife both spun around to face the unknown assailant, weapons bared, lightning still sparking at her fingertips. Only to see the smirking face of Garrett Hawke observing them.

“You’re almost late, you know.”

“We weren't really given a timeframe,” Alistair shrugged, grinning.

A small shape rushed past him, throwing herself into the rogue’s arms. “Hawke! You’re okay!”

“I told you I was,” he replied gruffly, holding Kiyone tightly. “It’s good to see you both again. Come on inside, Stroud is in there and so is the Inquisitor. We’re just getting to the good part.”

“I don’t like this,” Alistair muttered as they followed Hawke through the damp tunnel. “Getting involved in all of this.”

“It’s necessary,” the Champion called back. “Can’t hide in your little corner of Thedas forever. The war is spreading, and if Corypheus wins, everyone else loses. Big time. Inquisitor is the only one who can close the rifts.”

Rolling her eyes at her husband’s grumbling, she tugged him along, following Hawke into the room at the back of the cave. “Um, hello.” Several pairs of eyes swung to meet them, the most noticeable pair belonging to a rather striking woman, with sharp, emerald green eyes, pale, alabaster skin, and wavy dark brown hair, so dark it was almost black. On her left hand, a green mark crackled, the magic pulsing around her skin violently. Instinctively, Kiyone drew back. “I’m Kiyone? This is my husband, Alistair,” she nudged the man in his ribs, still standing behind her, slightly sulking.

“Alistair?” the woman asked, voice smooth and cultured, “ _The_ Alistair?”

“I really should change my name,” he sighed.

“You’re married?” Hawke demanded. “You never told me that.”

“You never asked.”

“Warden Alistair,” a black haired, mustachioed man called out to the blonde.

“Still not a Warden, Stroud,” Alistair replied in a clipped tone.

“You always will be, brother,” rejoined the man, softly.

“I’m Evelyn Trevelyan,” the woman offered. “And these are my companions, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Warden Blackwall, and Varric Tethras.”

"Blackwall?" Alistair raised an eyebrow. "My mentor Duncan spoke of you. An honor to meet you."

“Suppose I should offer congratulations,” Varric grinned at his old friends. “Shit, but it’s good to see you both.” The one called Blackwall shrunk further in on himself at the news that the new man was also a Warden, trying to appear inconspicuous, while the Seeker merely nodded at the couple.

“So what’s this about the Calling?” Alistair plopped down next to Varric, eyes trained on Stroud across the fire.

“Corypheus,” the Warden replied. “I believe he has the same talents as an archdemon. I started to investigate, and not long after, every Warden in Orlais began hearing the Calling. They’re all terrified, fearful of what would happen if there are no more Wardens to defend against the next Blight. Corypheus, he can… control the Wardens somehow, via our taint. Warden-Commander Clarel has proposed some drastic measures in order to prevent future Blights.”

“Blood magic, I presume,” Alistair growled, glaring at the other Warden.

“Yes.”

“The Calling isn’t real,” Kiyone’s eyes shone in the flickering light, gazing at her lover. “Alistair, it isn’t real.”

“Seems that way,” he flashed her a cheeky grin. “So, what now?”

“We’re going to the Western Approach. The Wardens appear to be gathering in an ancient Tevinter ritual tower. I’ve heard tales of your abilities, Warden Alistair,” the Inquisitor watched him like an eagle. “The Inquisition could use your help.”

“I’m not a Grey Warden any longer,” he grunted. “And it's not up to me. What do you think, Ki?”

“I think… Whatever is happening, affects all of us. We should help, Ali,” she murmured softly, resting a hand on his arm. Rubbing his temples, he cast her a weary glance.

“Are you sure?" At her nod, he groaned. "Looks like we’re in."

“It’ll be fun, Freckles,” Varric chuckled. “Just like old times.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Will you go back to Skyhold and wait there? Stroud and Blackwall are already at risk going to meet the Wardens as it is. I’d prefer not to throw all our eggs in one basket.” Alistair’s pale blue eyes met Stroud’s dark brown eyes at Blackwall’s name, one giving the other an imperceptible nod.

“As you wish, Inquisitor.”

“We’ll head out tomorrow. Until then, rest.” Stretching out on the dusty ground, Kiyone propped herself up against her husband, smiling at Hawke.

“So, what happened after we left? Never did mention it in any of your letters. Sounds like it all just went to hell in a handbasket.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Varric snorted. “You heard about the chantry? That was Anders.”

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Although, we kinda assumed when we got word.”

“Yeah. It was… bad,” the dwarf shook his head. “Meredith tried to annul the Circle, and Hawke refused to back down. Then Orsino turned into an abomination and it was just chaos after that. She tried to get her men to kill Hawke, but the Knight-Captain, of all people, stood up to her.”

“Cullen?” Alistair interrupted.

“Yep. He refused to let her get to Hawke, and after she used her shiny new red lyrium sword one too many times, she turned into a statue. Creepy shit.”

“Cullen stood up to her. Huh,” Kiyone glowered at her husband. “He may have changed, Ki. It’s been five years.”

“You know my Commander?” The couple glanced up at the Inquisitor, startled.

“Commander?”

“You are talking about Cullen Rutherford, correct? He serves as the Commander for the Inquisition’s army.”

“Fucking perfect,” Kiyone snarled under her breath.

“Will this be a problem?” Evelyn asked in a cool tone.

“No,” Alistair nudged his wife with his elbow, the latter swatting his arm away. “It won’t be.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Give him a chance, Kiyone. Not like there’s any circles left for him to drag you to.”

“He’s the templar that tried to take you? Shit,” Varric breathed. “We all wondered what had happened to make you guys leave like that.”

“The Knight-Captain happened,” Kiyone replied bitterly, ignoring the look of shock on the Inquisitor’s face. “He’s the fucking reason why we had to leave Kirkwall in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. He found out I was an apostate and knocked me out, several times. Alistair had to fight him while I ran.”

“I assure you, the man I know now is nothing like that. He… struggles with his past,” Evelyn admitted, “But you know we welcomed the refugee mages into our ranks? It is nothing like a Circle. He even reports to a mage now. Me.”

Warily, Kiyone eyed the Inquisitor, taking in her armored robes and the staff leaning against the cave wall not too far away. “Fine. I won’t skewer him. Maybe.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “That is all I ask.”

Hiding his chuckle from his wife, Alistair watched as she pushed herself to her feet, grumbling the whole time as she turned away to roll out her bedroll. “So. Married?”

“Back in 37, Orlais,” he replied.

“Good for you,” Varric stretched out his legs. “You both deserve whatever happiness you can find. Is it everything it’s cracked up to be?”

“Better,” Alistair murmured softly. Evelyn smiled at the tender expression in the man’s eyes. Glancing up, Kiyone caught his gaze, sticking her tongue out at him instead even as she patted the empty spot next to her, motioning him over. “See you guys in the morning.”

Evelyn decided she liked them both. It was clear the couple was thoroughly devoted to each other, and well, Varric vouched for them both and she trusted the dwarf. And she had more than a little case of hero worship for the Grey Warden who had helped defeat the Blight. Having a man like that on their side would help immensely. Not to mention, half of their army was Ferelden. Her men would eat it up. Briefly, she wondered how Cullen would react to their newest members. She had heard of his time in Kirkwall, but this was the first time she had ever encountered anyone who was directly affected by him. Trying to reconcile Kiyone Theirin’s venom against the soft spoken, kind, honorable man she knew was a bit tricky. Had he truly done those things to the mage? Perhaps even more surprising was Alistair’s defense of the Commander. Shouldn’t he be just as upset as his wife, if not more? It was curious.

_Oh well. Too much to think of tonight. I should send a letter back to Skyhold, tell them to prepare a place for them, update Cul- my advisors._

***

“Be safe out there,” Kiyone released Hawke from a hug.

“We will. See you guys in a few,” the boys waved, trotting off down the road. She sighed watching them go, Varric hands already animatedly waving around as he began a story.

“They’ll be fine. Nothing gets in the way of those two,” Alistair chuckled into her ear.

“Yeah.” Turning around, she finished tying off her bag onto the horse, eyeing the beast apprehensively.

“Never ridden a horse?” An elven man walked up behind her.

“Nope.”

“Name’s Locke. We’ll be heading south along Lake Calenhad, need to drop off some supplies at a few camps on the way, then we’ll be heading back up to Skyhold. This here,” he motioned to the horse, “Is Rilly. Sweetest mare we got. She’ll treat you right.”

“Grab the saddle here, and put your foot in the stirrup. Then just,” Alistair pulled himself onto his own horse with an ease she despised him for, “Pull.”

“Just pull, look at me, I'm so fucking fancy,” she softly mocked him under her breath, huffing as she did as he bid. With a loud grunt, she managed to haul herself up, gulping at the large distance between her and the ground. 

“Rilly will follow the others, so you shouldn’t have to worry about navigating her much. Just keep the reins relaxed in your hand,” Locke nodded to her, turning to his own mount. “Everyone else ready?” The rest of the Inquisition’s men echoed their agreement.

The first few days on horseback were miserable. At least her steed was just as docile and obedient as they said, the sweet animal placidly trotting behind Alistair’s stallion. The weather was beginning to finally warm up, the last dregs of winter holding on to the land, tiny buds of pink and white and green blossoming in the bare trees, the breeze carrying just the barest hint of chill in the air. The group they traveled with was friendly, open, and ecstatic to have the legendary Grey Warden along with them, much to Alistair’s chagrin.

“Hey, Warden.”

“Alistair,” he sighed for what must’ve been the thousandth time.

“You grew up in Redcliffe, right?”

“That I did.”

“Must be pretty exciting for you to go back then, huh.”

“Excuse me?” His eyes flashed as his head whipped around to stare the other agent down.

“I-I- we, uh,” the man stammered. “We’ll be passing through Redcliffe on our way back. I thought you knew?”

“I did not,” Alistair hissed.

“Ali,” a slender hand reached over to his, wrapping his fingers. “We don’t have to go into the town. We can stay behind.”

“Maybe,” he muttered. “Or maybe…” Running a hand through his hair, a heavy sigh heaved through his chest. “Or maybe we should go. Just to see the village, though.”

“I think I'd like to see where you grew up," a soft smile spread over her face. "See the places you told me about, where you fell out of the tree. Maybe your old tree fort is still there.”

"Doubt it," he laughed. "Alright, I'll show you where little Alistair once roamed. I did tell you I was raised by dogs, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that updates might slow down, because I'm hitting a wall in all of my stories due to first trimester morning sickness that is a lie because it lasts ALL DAMN DAY.


	14. Chapter 14

The wooden door swung open, the hinges creaking faintly with the effort. Barely glancing up, he stifled a groan. This was the seventh runner in the past hour. Was even asking for a few minutes to himself to much to ask? Apparently.

“Commander, a letter from the Inquisitor.”

“Thank you, soldier.” Reaching out, Cullen took the parchment, turning it over it his hands. There were several ink smudges, as if she had written too hastily, not giving the ink enough time to dry, as usual. It made him smile. Inhaling deeply, he breathed in the distinct scent of lemons and bergamot that wafted from the note as he unfolded it, the pressure in his head abating somewhat.

_Commander-_

_I met with Stroud and Hawke, the details of which are in the letter I sent to Leliana. I’ll be heading to the Western Approach with both of them, as that is where the Grey Wardens have been most recently spotted._

_I gained two new agents for the Inquisition who apparently know you. Alistair and Kiyone Theirin will be accompanying Sister Nightingale’s people back to Skyhold. I trust they will be well received? Also, watch out for Kiyone. She might try to stab you. Alistair assures me she won’t, but I’m not so sure._

_I hope you are continuing to take care of yourself. I know how you tend to skip meals. Eat, Cullen._

_Evelyn_

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered, dropping into his chair. “Alistair and his… wife?” Glancing back at the paper, his finger retraced the Inquisitor’s delicate handwriting. _Alistair and Kiyone Theirin. I guess they are married. I suppose she still holds a grudge for the events back in Kirkwall. Not that I blame her. And Evelyn…_ Her concern flooded his aching muscles like a soothing balm. He would never call her by her name to her face, of course. In person, it was always Inquisitor. Proper and respectful. Cullen was determined to treat her with nothing less. She was everything the Herald of Andraste should be- kind and generous, devoted to her people. And yet she suited her role as Inquisitor as well, with her fierce nature and intelligence. She was perfect. And not for the likes of him, the fact that she was a mage notwithstanding. 

He noticed, of course, the looks she gave him when she thought he wasn’t looking- the shy glances, when her eyes lingered on his lips for just a moment longer than was appropriate, how she blushed when he caught her staring. It was adorable. What he would give to reciprocate. More than anything else in the world, he wanted to act on his feelings. Take her into his arms, hold her tight, keep her safe from all the battles that he could see wearing down her beautiful soul, bit by bit. _How would she taste? How would she sound when I- ugh._ He made a disgusted grunt that would make Cassandra proud. Unworthy. That’s what he was. He would not defile her in such a base manner. Evelyn, no, the Inquisitor, deserved a man who was whole, untainted, not a broken, recovering addict such as he. Maybe with Kiyone in Skyhold, to serve as his constant reminder of what he had been, it would be easier to resist. Perhaps she would tell the Inquisitor of his deeds from Kirkwall, revealing the man he used to be. That might be enough to turn her attention away from him, focus her affections elsewhere. But how it would hurt to see her with anyone else. To know that it could be him.

_Stop this, Rutherford. It can’t be you. It can never be you._

***

“It’s all changed.” They stood on a tall ridge, underneath the ruins of an old windmill. Alistair laid a hand on the rough stone, eyes closed in remembrance. “Everything was destroyed when the smaller horde the darkspawn used as a distraction came through here. It’s hard to recognize anything.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Alistair?”

“Not really. But let’s go anyways.” Finding strength in his wife’s touch, Alistair took her hand, leading her down the path into town.

“That giant tree there- at least I think it’s the same tree- I tied a rope to it and used to swing from it. Rope snapped one day and I broke my arm. The chantry used to be over here. Looks like they put a tavern over the spot. Ironic,” he chuckled. Kiyone stopped in front of a griffon statue in the town square. “A monument to the Hero of Ferelden,” he frowned, skimming the inscription. “They forgot a few adjectives. Like traitor and harpy. Come on. Let’s go down to the docks.” Following him as he stomped away in silence, Kiyone trailed after him to where the smell of fish was the strongest, carefully lowering herself to the rough, wooden planks of the docks and dangling her feet over the water. 

“Lot of memories here for you.”

“There are. It’s not all bad, though. I was lonely as a kid, but I was safe and well-fed, at least. The villagers were kind to me. Not that I came down here very often. I spent most of time up there.” He pointed to a dark, gray castle high above the town. “Maybe it’s a good thing nothing looks the same.” Smiling as she leaned her head against his shoulder, Alistair wrapped an arm around her. “Thank you for coming with me.”

Kiyone snorted. “Like I’d let you come alone. Did you want to go say hi to your uncle?”

“No, I think that’s best saved for another day, don’t you? Another day. Far, far away.” Reaching back into his pack, Alistair pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, parchment fuzzy from where it had been folded and refolded dozens of times. “Teagan said he missed me. Eamon, too. Do you think it’s true? Or are they just trying to convince me to come back?”

“I think it’s very likely they were telling the truth. Who wouldn’t miss you?”

“Would you like the short list, or a written list?” he replied dryly. “The written list may take a few years to complete.”

“Oh, hush. Here. Gimme that.” Scanning the paper, she read aloud. “'We hope you come back to us, Alistair. Maker knows how much you’ve suffered over the years since leaving Ferelden. Redcliff is, and always has been, your home. It hasn’t always been the best home, I know, and for that, Eamon would like to apologize to you. Face to face. He is growing old, Alistair. Come home, if only to say goodbye.'” 

“I hope you are well, and happy, wherever you may find yourself. With love, Uncle Teagan,” he finished for her, having had memorized the entire thing years ago. “I know. It sounds sincere. But they’re nobility. They have that way with fancy words.” Kiyone said nothing, merely snuggling in closer to his side. His hand found her braid, rubbing the soft strands together as he considered what to do. “After this Calling thing is settled. We’ll come back then, when the threat of looming death isn’t hanging over me.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she scowled, jabbing him in his ribs. “It’s not real. It can’t be. I won’t let it be.”

He chuckled, kissing her sun warmed head. :If there is anyone in Thedas that could scare the Calling away, it would be you, love.” The sound of dirt scuffling and grass crunching behind them made the couple swivel to look back.

“Ready to head out?” Locke called out as he approached them. “We’re all done here.”

“Yup,” Alistair jumped to his feet, pulling Kiyone up with him. “Let’s go.”

***

“Fucking cold. Why the ever loving fuck is it so cold? It’s not even fall yet. Shit is fucked up.” Kiyone kept up a steady barrage of curses as they ascended higher into the snowcapped peaks of the Frostbacks, huddling further into her cloak. She eyed her husband distastefully, Alistair seemingly comfortable in just his normal armor, smirking at her from atop his horse. “I hate you. You’re unnatural.”

“I’m Ferelden,” he laughed, tugging his blanket out of his pack. “Here.” Snatching the thin wool from him, she tucked it securely around her shivering body.

“It’s warmer in Skyhold,” Locke offered. “Something about the ancient elven magic. It stays warm enough that the herb garden is always in bloom year round.”

“Thank god,” she muttered, glancing up as they crossed a high ridge, a valley dotted with hundreds of tents and people that resembled ants opening up beneath them. Then, “Holy shit. Is that it?” A giant stone fortress dominated the horizon, perched just up the road. Even from this distance, she could tell it was old. And huge.

“I don’t understand how something like that could have stayed hidden for so long,” Alistair mused.

“Fereldens,” she scoffed, ducking her head to hide her smile.

“Your favorite.”

“Some days.”

“Scouts approaching!” Guards called out ahead as their group clattered across the bridge, iron grate rising with a loud groan to admit them. Kiyone gaped wide eyed at the courtyard, swinging off of her horse. The sheer scale of the towers and battlements stunned her. _And this was all built by hand. Or probably magic, too. Incredible. I wonder how long it took._

“Alistair!” A slim redheaded woman rushed down the main stairs, grinning as she held her arms out. “Maker, it’s good to see you.” Alistair grinned, wrapping the woman into a bear hug. “Look at you! You look well.”

“Leliana. Or Sister Nightingale, should I say? You look exactly the same. Except, scarier.” She giggled. “This is Kiyone, my wife. This is Leliana. We were companions, way back when.”

Kiyone felt the hair along her arms raise as the other appraised her, emerald green eyes glittering. “Pleasure to meet you, Sister Leliana.”

The suspicion in her eyes disappeared as quickly as it came. “And you. I imagine you must be tired? I can have someone show you to your rooms.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” she replied primly. Leliana called one of the staff over.

“There’s usually supper in the main hall around twilight, or you can eat in the tavern, whichever you prefer. Rest awhile. We can discuss your assignments tomorrow, yes?”

“Thanks, Leliana,” Alistair turned to the servant. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Cullen leaned against the battlement walls high above the courtyard, watching the couple as they ascended into the keep, both of their heads craning this way and that to take in as much as they could. The years had been kind to them both, he noted. Alistair’s boyish, cherubic face had melded into something more mature, firmer, and harsher. And his wife… From what he could remember from that day in Kirkwall, she had been pretty. But the woman beside him now was not pretty. She was stunning, the sunlight glinting off her rich black braid, her muscles developed into a graceful, lithe figure, moving almost like one of the large cats that roamed the mountains, silent and deadly. _You got lucky, Theirin_ , he thought wryly, as the two disappeared inside.

Entering a long corridor three stories up, the staff member pushed open a wooden door, revealing a bright and cheery room. It was a sitting room, a plush sofa set in front of a crackling fireplace, with a desk and a few bookshelves tucked into a corner. A set of large windows opened up to the western horizon, providing a panoramic view of the mountains beyond. Through one door lay a four poster bed, covers turned down invitingly, a washroom waiting behind the other door, a copper tub already filled to the brim with hot water, waiting for them. 

“If these chambers are not to your liking, the ambassador can arrange for other accommodations, my lord.” Alistair frowned at the title.

“No, no, this is perfect,” Kiyone smiled. “Much more than we were expecting, at least. Thank you.”

“Uh, where is the tavern?” Alistair called out at the retreating servant.

“If you take the staircase all the way down back out into the courtyard, it’s set against the battlements to your right, my lord.”

“I’m not a lord,” he sighed.

“Oh!” the man held his hands up apologetically. “They said you were the son of Maric, ser. I assumed-”

“Fuck,” muttering under his breath, Alistair turned away, oblivious to the other man’s frantic glances.

“It’s fine,” Kiyone whispered to the servant. “Thank you.” Nodding, he quickly disappeared.

“Does everyone know? I guess they do.” Plopping down on the sofa, he leaned his head back, groaning. “So much for a normal life.”

“When has life ever been normal,” Kiyone asked, sliding in beside him, kicking off her boots with a blissful sigh. “I mean, you’re married to a woman from a different world, for fuck’s sake.”

“That I am,” he murmured. Bright blue eyes focused on her chest as her fingers began unfastening her buckles, tossing her armor unceremoniously to the floor. “You know, it feels like it’s been forever since we had a room to ourselves.”

“Ever since we left home.”

“Mm.” Her gaze found his, smirking as his pupils dilated at the sight of her bare skin. Shrugging himself out of his own armor, Alistair tugged his shirt over his head, moaning softly as her fingers met his chest, nails gently raking over his skin. “Come here.” Throwing a leg over his lap, Kiyone pressed herself to him, snuggling down into his warmth.

“This is nice. Love, don’t you want a bath first?”

“You’ll just get all sticky again after,” he pointed out with a cheeky grin. “I’m being efficient.”

Her laugh was full and throaty. “Is that what this is?” Standing up, she shimmied out of her leathers, bending over to help tug his own trousers off before resettling atop his lap, grinding against his erection.

“This is- fuck, Ki,” he groaned as she lowered herself onto him, controlling her descent inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside of her. “This is perfect. Maker, I will never get tired of this.” Hissing against his neck, she bit the sensitive skin there, just hard enough to be on the edge of pain and leave a mark. He thrust up violently, fingers digging into her hips. “Ki…” he warned.

“It’s been so long, lover,” she whimpered in his ear, trailing the tip of her tongue along the shell of his ear. “Please?”

How could he refuse such a beautiful plea as that? “Bend over. Hands on the sofa,” he ordered hoarsely. She popped off of him immediately, turning around to present him with her ass, the swollen, slick folds of her cunt just visible between her thighs. Standing up, one hand wrapped around her neck, the other keeping her hips still as he plunged back into her depths, eyelids fluttering shut at the sensation. Sometimes, she liked it soft and sweet, her back pressed against his chest as he spooned her, fucking her with long, slow strokes, his hands free to roam across her breasts and stomach at will. Other times, they liked to be sappy and romantic, gazing into each other’s eyes as they brought each other to completion. But times like this, oh, this was their favorite. Hard and rough, leaving bruises and marks along each other's skin, claiming them for the world to see. Kiyone, helpless to his whims, submitting so meekly to his wishes. He was such a lucky, lucky man.

She cried out, fingers clutching the sofa so hard her knuckles were turning white. “Yes, fuck, right there, Alistair, please!”

Grunting, he gently squeezed her throat, feeling her gasp cut off mid-breath. “You’re going to be the end of me,” he growled, releasing her. “That’s it, love. Just like that.” His palm landed across her ass with a loud smack, a smirk crossing his face as he felt her walls twitch around him.

“May I please touch myself?” she begged breathlessly, bracing for another spank.

“You-” A vision of her leaning against the headboard back at home flashed across his mind, her fingers buried inside of her own heat, his hands around his cock as they played a game with each other, trying to see who would break first. He had, unable to resist the sight of her juices dripping down her skin. “Fuck.” He wasn’t going to last much longer. “That’s a good idea,” he amended with a low moan. “Come for me, sweet girl.”

Her fingers found her clit, rubbing desperate circles against the sensitive flesh as the tip of his length grazed against every sweet spot inside of her. “Alistair!” Kiyone screamed, shivering as her pleasure flooded her body, his hips speeding up, groaning at the pulsing of her walls around his rock hard member. With one last thrust, Alistair wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close as he snarled against her skin, spilling deep within her.

“Better?”

“Don’t let go,” she murmured. “I may fall.” He chuckled, standing up and pulling her back against him. Her legs really were trembling, he noted with pride, running his hands over her taut belly, fondling her heavy breasts. “Fuck. That was good. I could definitely use that bath now.”

Pressing kisses to her shoulder, he practically purred his contentment. “Race you.”

“You have to pull out first, Alistair.”

“Spoilsport.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Nice office.”

Cullen glanced up, blinking like an owl in the dim light at his open door. “Alistair?”

“You changed your hair.”

“Ah, I did. Come in, please.” Stepping into the soft glow of the candlelight, Alistair shut the door, the sounds of revelry from the tavern muffling behind the thick wood. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

“You mean after you ran us out of Kirkwall?” His expression was unreadable. Sighing, Cullen slumped over his desk.

“Maker’s breath, Alistair, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for all of that. I was… a blind fool, back then.”

“And have you found your way since then?”

“I am trying,” he replied quietly. Studying the other man, Alistair nodded once, a huge grin spreading across his face.

“No harm done. You probably saved us a lot of headache by making us leave town when we did. I heard what happened afterwards.” Cullen winced at the memory. “You look well. Much healthier, although… Are you sick?” He frowned, noticing the thin sheen of sweat that covered his face, the way his hands faintly trembled.

“No, I’m fi-”

“Rutherford. Cut the bullshit.”

“I… Very well." If he couldn't tell his oldest friend, who could he tell? Wait. Were they still friends? Had he really forgiven him, just like that? "No one else knows about this yet, except for Seeker Cassandra. I… no longer take lyrium.”

“Do you have a death wish, man?” Alistair stared slackjawed at the Commander.

“No.”

“Then why-”

“I left the Order. The things I did in Kirkwall, to the mages, to your own wife- I do not wish to be bound to that life any longer. I can do this,” he insisted.

“Stubborn fool,” Alistair sighed. “Does anything help the symptoms?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “However, anything that helps distract me is useful.”

“Is that why you’re squirreled away in your office, working this late?”

“That. And also I really do have a lot of work," he gestured wearily to the stacks of parchment covering every square inch of his desk. "Have you been assigned any sort of job yet?”

“Nope, twiddling our thumbs until tomorrow when whoever’s in charge gives us work.”

“Would you mind helping me out? I could definitely use another skilled warrior such as yourself to help train the recruits.”

“Sure,” Alistair leaned against the desk. “Sounds fun.”

“About your wife…” Cullen cleared his throat. “She isn’t really going to stab me, is she? The Inquisitor mentioned that she might.”

“Hmm. I don’t think so? I asked her not to, but she’s not always the most obedient type. Except in certain situations,” he waggled his eyebrows, chuckling at the Commander’s rising blush. “She’ll come around, once she sees for herself how much you’ve changed.”

“It’s hard to believe you’re married.”

“I know, right?” A wide grin split Alistair’s face. “I can still hardly believe it, and it’s been four years. Anyone special in your life, Commander?”

“Ah, no,” he blushed again, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hmm.” He leaned in closer. “But there is someone.”

“Nothing can come of it. Besides, I have more important things to do than to engage in flirting or romance,” he said the last few words distastefully.

“If you say so,” Alistair shrugged. “So, tomorrow?”

“Dawn?”

“See you then, Rutherford.” Cullen held out his hands, jerking back in surprise when the other man grabbed his forearm instead, pulling him for a tight hug instead. “It’s so good to see you again,” he murmured into his fur mantle. 

“You as well,” he rasped, forcing the ball of emotions that had lodged itself in his stomach back down. “Sleep well, Alistair.”

***

She was avoiding him, he knew. Every time their eyes met, she would quickly look away with a frown. On the off chance they met in person, she would stare at some point just beyond his shoulder, and offer him a clipped, “Commander,” before stomping away. He deserved it, he supposed. Alistair still assured him she would get over it, but Cullen wasn’t so sure.

“Just give it up, Theirin. It’s fine, really.”

Alistair scowled from his place beside the Commander, the two men in the valley below Skyhold watching the soldiers around them run through their drills. “She’s being unreasonable.”

“I really don’t think she is. I don’t blame her in the slightest.” The other man just sighed, running a hand through his strawberry blonde hair. 

“So the Inquisitor should be here today, hmm? I heard we’re going to Halamshiral first?”

A growl was his only answer. “Simpering nobles. It’s a waste of time. But to answer your question, yes. As much as we need to prepare to march on Adamant, the Winter Ball is next month and the assassination will more than likely happen there. And we apparently have to stop it at all costs. The army will march out to Adamant directly after.”

“Going to be a busy few months. I hope I’m not expected to go to Halamshiral. Am I? Please say no.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’d imagine the nobles would love meeting the exiled prince of Ferelden,” he grinned.

“Andraste preserve me,” Alistair muttered. “Leliana is already planning on using me as a distraction, isn’t she?”

“Probably,” Cullen agreed amicably. 

“Riders incoming!” Both men lifted their heads up just in time to see a group of horses crest the ridge, the telltale green mark flashing on the first rider’s hand giving away their identities.

“Commander!” she waved as her horse trotted up to the pair. “Warden, it’s good to see you here. I trust you’ve been settling in well?”

“Your Commander is the perfect host,” Alistair drawled, raising an eyebrow as he watched the normally unflappable former templar shift nervously in the presence of his superior.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll be calling a meeting as soon as I’ve had a chance to bathe and change. Two hours?”

“I’ll be there,” Cullen averted his gaze, focusing on her scuffed boot instead.

Giving a final nod to the two men, Evelyn rode off towards the main gate, her companions close on her heels. Studying his bright red face, a huge grin spread across Alistair’s face.

“You liiiiike her,” he sang, agilely avoiding the swing to his shoulder. 

“Shut it,” the Commander growled.

“You do! You have a crush on the Inquisitor!”

“Could you say it a little louder?” he gritted out. “I don’t think the rest of the keep heard you.”

“Sorry,” Alistair chuckled. “For what it’s worth, I think she likes you too. I saw the way she looked at you.”

“I know,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes violently with the heel of his hand.

“But?”

“But she’s the Inquisitor. The Herald of Andraste. And I’m, well, you know. I cannot taint her, defile her in such a manner.”

“I think she rather wants to be defiled by you,” Alistair snorted. “Sorry, sorry,” he amended at his friend’s glare. 

“It’s hopeless. Every time she’s around me, I clam up, like I’m some green, untried lad who’s never had a woman before. She drives me to distraction when she’s here, waltzing around the keep. And it’s worse when she’s gone. I spend the whole time in between her letters worrying about her, thinking of all the scenarios where things could go horribly wrong, and- ugh.”

“You just need another woman to take your mind off of her,” he clapped the blonde man on his back. “Get it out of your system.”

"I tried,” he muttered. “It’s useless. All I can see is her face if she found out I was sleeping with random women. And I can’t pick the same woman every time. With my luck, she’d develop feelings for me and then what would I do? My heart is...”

Alistair let out a low whistle. “You’ve got it bad.”

“I do. I really do.”

“Hmmm.” 

“No.”

“What?”

“I know that look in your eye, Theirin. Whatever convoluted plan you’re hatching, just, no. It’s not going to happen.”

Throwing his head back, Alistair guffawed, slapping his knee with unbridled mirth. “Don’t say no yet. Besides, it might not even work. I’ll let you know later.”

“Alistair…”

“I’ll be discreet, have no fear,” he grinned. “Now come on, let’s finish up here and get you back to your precious Inquisitor.”

***

“Kiyoneeeee!”

She glanced up from where she was curled up on the couch, soaking in the heat from the fire. “How was training?”

“Same old,” unbuckling his armor, he draped it over the stand in the corner before snuggling up next to her, tucking her head against his chest. “You know, Cullen still thinks you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him,” she muttered, “I just… don’t care for him. Every time I see him, all I can remember is that day we had to leave Kirkwall. Being so scared you’d be killed as I ran away.”

Alistair snorted. “The day I lose to Rutherford is the day I hang up my sword for good.”

“Ali-”

“It worked out though, didn’t it? I mean, we had a good life after we left, maybe even a better life than had we stayed?” His bright eyes pleaded with her, earnestly taking her hands into his own.

“Probably,” she conceded. “Why is this so important to you?”

“He was my first friend,” his gaze turned wistful, staring into the crackling fire. “Back when we were in training. No one else would really talk to me. Until he came along. Not that he really talked to anyone at first, but he let me hang around him, tolerating my incessant talking and horrible jokes.” She giggled at that. “Eventually, he started sticking up for me when the other recruits picked on me. We were practically joined at the hip after that.”

“Among other places,” she teased. Alistair blushed.

“Well, there was that, too.”

“You miss him,” she replied softly, setting her book to the side.

“I do.”

“Ali, if you want- That is, if you miss him, I wouldn’t want to stop you- I don’t mind if you…” she trailed off helplessly, unsure of how to finish.

“Y-you wouldn’t mind if I… with him?” He blinked, long and slow.

“It would make you happy,” she smiled shyly up at him. “As long as you still loved me the same, and don’t plan on leaving me for him, I wouldn’t mind.”

“You know I wouldn’t.” Gathering her up into his lap, he sighed into her loose hair. “He’s in love with the Inquisitor, you know.”

“Is he? She is a rather beautiful woman.”

“Ki, have you been having naughty thoughts about our illustrious leader?” he chided.

“Perhaps a few, in passing,” she grinned. Visions of his wife buried between Evelyn Trevelyan’s pale thighs flashed through his head, forcing a groan from deep within his chest. “Would you mind? If I did?”

“Could I watch?” he asked huskily.

“Mmm,” sliding one leg over to him, she hiked her skirts up, rubbing herself against his chest. “She might even let you join in. Would you like that, love? Your cock buried deep in her sweet cunt, while her tongue brings me pleasure?”

“Fuck, Ki,” he hissed at the idea and her crude words, drowning in the sensation of her wet heat grinding against his now hard erection. Yanking down his trousers, he pulled his heavy cock free, shoving her smalls to the side and impaled her with one smooth motion.

“You feel so good,” she moaned, feeling her clit slide against his skin, his girth stretching her perfectly. “So you like that idea?”

“You know what I would like?”

“Tell me.”

 _Now or never, Theirin_. “I want to see the Commander’s cock buried inside of you.” Her eyes flew open, mouth slightly agape. “I want to watch him fuck you, rough and fast, just the way you love it. I want to take you from behind while watching you suck him off. I want-” fingers digging into her hipbones, he held her still, setting a punishing pace as he thrust violently up inside of her. “I want you watch you be filled here-” her walls spasmed around him as he graze the seam where they were joined, “-and here.” A rough finger snaked up behind her, gently teasing the puckered ring of her ass. “I know how much you love it when I fill you up completely,” he reminded her hoarsely. “Imagine what it would be like with two, thick cocks inside of you. Hands roaming all over your body. A mouth over each of your perfect, hard nipples.” Nibbling on one to prove his point, her eyes fluttered shut as she keened, raking her nails down his chest.

“Alistair! I’m going to-”

“Yes,” he growled. “Come for me. Maker, what a sight you would be, my seed dripping down between your thighs, Cullen fucking you from behind. I want to- fuck!” Her orgasm triggered his own, the tightening of her muscles around his painfully hard member too much to bear. Wailing in his ear, she rode out her pleasure, overwhelmed by the images he had put in her head and the feeling of him emptying inside of her.

It was several minutes before either regained the coherence to speak, simply content to gasp into each other’s mouth and sweaty skin, waiting for their heart rates to return to normal. “Ali,” she murmured softly. “Is that something you really want?”

“Only if you want it,” he assured her. “If you don’t, we can pretend like we never had this conversation.”

“You want to… watch?” She wasn’t upset, or shocked, he noted, merely perplexed.

“Watch. Participate. Everything.” The very idea of it had his softened cock twitching inside of her. Kiyone smirked at him.

“I thought you said he was in love with the Inquisitor?”

“He thinks he’s not good enough for her,” he shrugged. “He knows she likes him too, so he feels like he can’t sleep with any of the other women around, out of fear of hurting her feelings. With us, it would just be sex.” A noncommittal noise drifted up to him as she laid her head in the crook of his neck. “You don’t have to decide now, love. Just… get to know him a little first? He really has changed. He’s almost back to the same lad I once knew, before he was a templar. He’s trying, Ki. Trying so very hard. It hasn’t been easy for him.”

“I know,” sighing, she pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Fine. I’ll get to know him. What should I do? Invite him to supper? Lose a game of chess to him? Seduce him in his office?”

“All of the above?” he suggested. “He’ll probably be really uncomfortable with it all, to be honest.”

“You want to me to seduce him,” she replied flatly, pushing herself backwards to stare at her husband.

“You know, it’s weird. With anyone else, I would be insanely jealous,” he admitted sheepishly. “But with him, it’s like…”

“You love him.” His eyes shot up to hers, wild and frantic. “It’s okay, Ali. Like I said, as long as you aren’t going to leave me for him, I don’t mind. Mmm,” a dreamy smile overtook her lips. “If we do get him up here, I wouldn’t mind watching either.”

“Watching us?” he squeaked.

“Watching him, his cock deep inside of you,” she whispered, tensing as his erection sprang back to life. “Is he as big as you?”

“Maker’s balls,” he moaned. “I- I think so? We were just teenagers back then, I don’t know if my memory is right or not.” Rolling her hips over him, she slowly raised herself, shallowly fucking just the tip of him.

“I bet you would make the most delicious sounds as he fucked you,” she smiled. “You would let him take control, wouldn’t you? He seems like the type to dominate, pinning you down, having his way with you.” Roughly, she yanked up his arms, holding his wrists behind his head in a hold he could have easily broken, but chose not to. Helpless to his wife’s whims, Alistair leaned back and let her have her way, her slick folds still teasing just the tip, until she suddenly slammed down onto his cock, impaling herself until her soft flesh met his wiry hairs with a guttural scream.

“Do that again,” he begged. She obliged him. Over and over again, until they were both panting, writhing messes, sweat soaking all of their clothes. “Kiyone, fuck me, please!”

“Fuck you? Like he would,” she hissed, her hips picking up their pace. “Tell me love. Do you think about it? I bet it’s been on your mind this entire time we’ve been here.”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he gasped, straining desperately to meet her thrusts. “Ki, I’m-” His vision faded to black as she reached up to squeeze his throat like he had done so many times to her, exploding with a rasping shout, hot come dripping down around his pulsing length. She waited patiently for him to breathe again before wiggling around his sensitive flesh.

“Ali, I need you, please,” she pleaded. Pulling her off, he threw her back onto the sofa, ignoring the sticky mess they both were making as he slid off her drenched smalls. Alistair fell to the ground, pulling her hips to the edge of the seat, glancing up at her with a wicked grin before burying his face in her soaked, swollen heat, determined to clean every drop of his own spend from her cunt. She screamed, her fingers finding purchase in his hair, yanking his head closer as her thighs convulsed around him, closing him off to everything except the smell and taste of their shared love. Crooking his fingers inside of her, he smirked to himself as her hips bucked off of the couch, teeth and tongue finding her nub, teasing it until she could take no more. Wordlessly, she seized up, eyes rolling back in her head, the sweet rush of her nectar coating his tongue and face, Alistair desperately lapping up as much as he was able to manage. “Holy hell.” 

Her words were barely audible. With a triumphant grin, he sat up, wiping his face clean on his shirt. “I love you, by the way.”

“I love you, too,” she murmured, completely drained and content. “I don’t think I’ll be up for seducing your paramour tonight, lover.”

He chuckled at that, rising to gently tug her sweaty dress off. “We’ve got time. Plenty of time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins mwahaha.
> 
> I like how Cullen is all, I've changed bro, and Alistair is like cool beans! Men, I swear.


	16. Chapter 16

Alistair watched as she pulled on her armor, fastening the buckles and brushing her long black hair out again before plaiting it away from her anxious face. “You look beautiful, Ki.”

“I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this shit,” she grumbled, twisting her braid up into a bun. “He knows, right?”

“I told him to think about it.” That morning, Alistair had brought up the topic in casual conversation when he dropped by Cullen’s office first thing in the morning.

“So, Cullen,” he drawled out his name, an immediate hint that the former Grey Warden was up to no good.

“Theirin,” he frowned. “What have you done?”

“Nothing yet,” he grinned. “What if I could offer you a way to find release? Without the risk of things like feelings, hurt or otherwise?”

“I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you. It is far too early for this,” groaning, he had dropped to the chair behind his desk. “I should never have told you.”

“Come now, that’s not an answer,” Alistair smirked.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What is your ridiculous proposition?”

“My wife.”

“What?!” Pitching forward, his boots hit the stone floor of his office, eyes flying open until they were as large as saucers. “Alistair, have you gone mad?”

The other man was unperturbed. “She has a thing for blond former templars, did you know? And well, we’ve been wanting to find someone to else to… join us, shall we say? For some time, but never really found the right person. That is, if you’d be interested.”

“Alistair, I…”

“You don’t have to answer now. She says she wants to get to know you first before anything is decided, anyways. And if the idea of me in the mix makes you uncomfortable, well, I wouldn’t mind just watching.”

Cullen stared at his friend incredulously. “Just watching? You would want to just watch me fucking your wife?”

His answering grin was sultry and lascivious. “Maker, yes. I would get to see every inch of her as she screamed in pleasure, watching you with her. I get all tingly just thinking about it,” he winked. “Anyways. Think about it. I promised that giant Qunari of yours a spar this morning, so I need to get going. No pressure, Cullen!” he called over his shoulder as he jogged out of the office, leaving a silent and stunned Commander in his wake.

Alistair had seen the look in his eye before he left though. He was definitely intrigued. Time to find out how much. “It’s just a spar, Ki.”

“A spar where I’m going to attempt to seduce him in front of the entirety of Skyhold,” she rolled her eyes.

“Well, not too blatantly or-”

“I know, subtle. Inconspicuous. God, this is going to be a disaster.” Sighing, she finished the last of her ensemble and swept out of their room, Alistair trailing on her heels, nearly bouncing in anticipation. He followed her as she stomped through the keep, heading up to the battlements where Cullen kept his office. Rapping on the door smartly, she pushed the heavy door open at the muffled command to enter.

“Commander? Are you free?”

He glanced up, immediately flushing a bright red at the sight of Kiyone Theirin, her husband positively beaming behind her. “I- um, ah, yes?” Rubbing the back of his neck furiously, he hesitantly raised his eyes to hers.

“I was hoping for a spar, if you had time to oblige me,” she inclined her head. “It’s about time we had a fair rematch, don’t you think?”

“If you wish,” he rose smoothly from his desk, scrabbling to regain some of his confidence and dignity.

“I’ll meet you in the ring then,” she nodded, walking out the opposite door.

“I’d advise you not to go easy on her,” Alistair warned with a cheeky grin. “It’ll only make her mad.” He chuckled at the other man’s answering frown. “Don’t worry, she’s tougher than she looks. And this was her idea.”

“Fuck me,” Cullen groaned.

“That’s the hopeful conclusion,” he chirped. “See you downstairs, Commander.”

By the time he finally made it down into the lower courtyard, a small crowd had gathered, eager to watch the match between the Commander and the legendary Grey Warden’s beautiful wife. She leaned against the post, idly twirling a set of blunted daggers in her hand, Varric and Alistair just behind her on the outside, the Inquisitor standing with the Tevinter mage towards the back.

“There you are, Curly! Odds are pretty good for this bout. Split almost 50-50!” He stifled a groan at the news.

“Are you ready, Mistress Theirin?”

“Really?” she wrinkled her nose at him. “Kiyone is fine. Or Ki.”

“As you wish.” 

Rolling her eyes, she called back behind her, “Does he always have a stick up his ass?”

“Most of the time,” Alistair shouted back. “You should take it out for him. He’d probably like that.” Snorts and giggles rang out among the gathered, making Cullen’s face darken by several shades.

Ignoring them, she smiled up at him, tapping her daggers against her thigh. “No magic. Just weapons.” He nodded. “Ready when you are, then.”

It started off slow. A few parries. Her blades glancing off his shield. A swipe at her feet. A blow that grazed his hip. Testing. Taunting. Teasing. _Why does he have to be so fucking handsome?_ She resisted the urge to shiver under the weight of his amber stare, brow furrowed with concentration. Leaping back just a fraction of a second too late, she hissed, feeling the edge of his sword bruise her lower rib. He smirked at her. She felt her heart stutter. _Time to change things up._

Whirling around him, she muttered in a low tone, just loud enough for him alone to hear, “Have you been thinking about Alistair’s proposal any?” He stumbled. Whipping his head around, his eyes narrowed at her, telling her he knew exactly what she was doing. Kiyone offered him her most innocent smile. “I confess, it took me by surprise as well.” Ducking his shield, she rolled up to her knee, bringing one of her daggers in a low arc to collide with the back of his thigh. “But I must confess, I am intrigued. How you must look without your armor. How you must feel.” Parrying his thrust, she spun out of his reach, twirling behind him, her lips a hairsbreadth away from his ear as she whispered, “How you taste. How you would sound with my lips wrapped around your cock, or when you spilled deep inside of me. Are you the silent type, Commander?” Daggers met his sword, holding them just at bay, her muscles trembling slightly under the weight. "Or would you scream? No, not scream I don't think. You seem more of the growly type. Good thing. Two screamers would just be too noisy, don't you think?" She winked as she twisted his blade to the side and rolled away.

Cullen was breathing hard now, nostrils flaring out with every breath, pupils dilating with lust until only a thin band of honey gold remained. “You little-” He charged, faster than she expected. _What is it with these warriors moving like they’re not wearing tons of heavy armor?!_ Clipping her on her shoulder, his shield forced her back, one of his legs wrapping around hers, tripping her up. With a low grunt, she hit the ground, wheezing as his armored body covered hers in an instant, sword pressed to her throat. “Yield,” he growled.

“Willingly,” a slow smile curled along her lips. The cheers of the crowd reminded him where he was, and who he was laying on top of. Far too hastily, he scrambled to his feet, trying desperately to not blush as he helped her up. “Good to see you live up to your rank,” she grinned, slightly wincing at the fresh bruises along her skin. 

“That was an excellent performance,” Evelyn called out, walking to the edge of the ring. “Impressive that you lasted as long as you did. It seems that I have yet to find anyone who can best my Commander,” she smiled up at him, Cullen blinking and blushing in return.

“Pssh. I could take him,” Alistair laughed. “What say you, Commander? Tomorrow? A spar for old time’s sake?”

“Are you going to leave another scar on my face?” he asked wryly, motioning to his lip.

“You did that?” The Inquisitor’s eyes widened.

“It’s such a tiny scar, look at it! The one he left on me is much longer, and deeper,” waving away her concerns, Alistair shrugged.

“At least the one I gave you is hidden! No one can ever see it,” Cullen argued, returning his practice equipment to its stand.

“Kiyone sees it all the time! She's traumatized by it. And it hurt!”

“And mine didn’t?!”

“Probably not as bad as mine did, you big pansy.”

The two women watched the men walk off towards the tavern, bickering all the while. “Are they always like this?” Evelyn asked with great amusement. It was rare she saw Cullen relax enough to even smile, let alone argue like a small child.

“It seems like they will be,” Kiyone laughed. “Care to join us for a drink, Inquisitor?”

“Evelyn, please. And yes, that sounds lovely.”

“Inquisitor! Sister Nightingale requests your presence.”

“Or not,” she sighed. “Perhaps later?”

“Of course,” Kiyone smiled. “You know where to find me.” Distracted momentarily by the Inquisitor’s shapely rear as she walked away, she shook herself free of the daze, winking at the Iron Bull as she headed into the tavern.

“Me too,” the Qunari chuckled.

She found the men sitting in a booth towards the back, mugs of ale in hand, still arguing.

“They blamed it on me! I had to recite the Canticles for eight hours a day for a week because of that stunt you pulled.”

“You didn’t mind. Reciting the Chant always was your favorite thing anyways.” Alistair’s face lit up as he spied his wife walking towards them. 

“Reminiscing?” Thanking the barmaid who set down another glass in front of her, Kiyone took a tentative sip. It really wasn’t all that bad. Nothing like the Hanged Man’s swill.

“Something like that. Your husband is a trouble maker,” Cullen scoffed.

“This I know all too well,” she ruffled his hair affectionately, Alistair beaming over at her. The Commander leaned his back against the wall. It was obvious how much they adored each other. He remembered the panic in the other man's eyes, when he found him standing over her, how she trembled beneath him. How scared he must have been for her.

“I wanted to tell you, Kiyone,” he said softly, so quietly she had to lean in to hear him. “I am so sorry for what I did to you. I wish there was some way for me to take it back, or make it up to you. If I could go back and change things, I would, in a heartbeat. Thinking about it now… I did a lot of things I am ashamed of,” he admitted, staring into his ale as if it held all the solutions to his troubled past. “It’s why I left the Order, why I am not a templar any longer. I will never again treat anyone the way I treated you.”

Alistair waited with bated breath to see how she would react. Drumming her slender fingers on the smooth table, she studied the tall blonde. “We had to leave our home because of you. In the middle of winter, without saying goodbye. I hate winter.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he nodded. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Kiyone sighed after another long moment. “Well. Past is past and all. It worked out for us in the end, as Alistair reminded me. Varric told me all about how you stood up to Meredith in the end. And you’re doing good work here. Working under a mage, no less,” she raised her eyebrow at him. “Letting the other mages have free reign of the keep with minimal templar interference. You’ve come a long way, Commander.”

“I am trying my best. It seems I have a great deal to atone for,” he replied, slumping further into his chair.

“We all have a past,” she murmured. “What matters is who you are now, who you are trying to be. For what it’s worth, I forgive you.”

His eyes widened slightly, rising to meet her warm gaze. “Y-you what? Are you sure?”

She giggled, Alistair shaking his head beside her. “You are the only person who would question forgiveness, Rutherford. Just say thank you.”

“It doesn’t seem sufficient,” he informed them. “But, thank you.”

“Now that we’re past that,” Alistair rubbed his hands together gleefully, “Soooo, Cullen, about that idea…”

“Maker’s breath,” he flushed, muttering under his breath. “People can hear you in here, Theirin! In any case, I- I haven’t thought about it much.” His hasty denial was met with a knowing cough and smirks. “I have to finish a bunch of reports tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Standing up, he beat a swift retreat, clumsily avoiding the entire conversation.

“Don’t forget our match!” Alistair called out to the disappearing man.

“Should I go after him?” Smiling, her fingers trailed up her husband’s thigh, gently grazing the inner sensitive skin with her nails.

“Of course.”

*** 

She waited until after supper, when the dark night shrouded the entire keep. Most of the lights in the windows had long been snuffed out, until only one remained, high in a tower above the battlements. Wrapping a thick cloak around her slender body, Kiyone slipped into stealth as she stole across the walls, Alistair’s parting kiss still warm on her lips. 

“Come back to me right after,” he had mumbled. “I want to taste him on you after he has his way with you.”

Feeling a rush of wetness at the mere thought, she shook her head. _This is so fucking weird. I’m sneaking into another man’s room, to have sex with him, and my husband is the one who wanted me to go. Is this weird? This shit is weird. But dear god, that man is handsome_. Pressing an ear to his door, there were no sounds to indicate that anyone else was within. _Perfect_. She swung it open by the smallest degree, opening a crack just large enough for her to slip through. Startled at the creak of the hinges this late at night, Cullen glanced up, freezing at the sight of her.

“Kiyone? What are you doing here?”

“Alistair and I were worried you might be working yourself to death,” she smiled, steadily approaching him. “It’s late, you know. The rest of Skyhold has long since gone to sleep.”

“I know,” he sighed wearily, running a hand through his tousled hair. He had already removed his armor, and stood clad only in a cotton tunic and loose, soft breeches. “There is just so much work to be done, and- Kiyone. What are you doing?” Backing away a few steps, he watched as she stepped around to his side of the desk, hopping up onto the edge. With a graceful shrug, she let her cloak flutter down around her and kicked her slippers off, revealing the thin, black lowcut shift she wore underneath. “Does Alistair…?”

“This was his idea,” she held a hand out to him. Without pausing to think or consider what the hell he was doing, Cullen automatically took it and let her draw him near to breathe in her sweet scent. “He thought the idea of all of us at once might be too much to start with for you. So, for tonight, it’s just you and me. If you want,” she amended. “I can always go if you don’t want to do this. No harm done.”

He was worried it’d be too much? Maker, this alone was too much. “You really want to do this?” he muttered in a low voice. “With me?” She nodded, lightly rubbing his chest over his shirt. His eyes fluttered close as he leaned in closer to her. “Maker’s breath, you are-” Amber eyes opened to pin her down with a deep, hungry stare. “Beautiful.”

“And all yours,” Kiyone whispered, utterly entranced by his looming presence. 

A moment’s hesitation clouded his eyes, before he muttered something that suspiciously sounded like, “Fuck it.” His lips crashed down upon hers, nipping and nibbling at the soft flesh, his hands pulling her closer into his warmth, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her head back to allow himself deeper access to her hot, wet mouth. Gasping, she felt his erection rub against her center, already hard and ready.

“Upstairs,” he commanded harshly, eyes following her every move as she jumped down off his desk, hips swaying as she crossed his office and grabbed ahold of the ladder. He glanced up at her as she climbed. And froze. Hauling himself up to his loft faster than he ever had before, his arms captured her at the top, molding her back to his chest. “You’re not wearing smalls,” he snarled in her ear.

“No,” she sighed, wiggling against him. Letting her go, he quickly ripped off his shirt and breeches, watching breathlessly as she slipped her shift over her head, leaving her bared to his eyes. She was magnificent. All smooth, tan lean muscles, full, heavy breasts, thick thighs, lightly scarred here and there. Silky ebony locks fell in a sheet around her shoulders. Raising one smooth lock to his lips, he breathed in the spicy smell of her, relishing in the feel of her hands scraping against his chest, flicking against his hardening nipples, trailing down over his rippling abs, down until-

He grabbed her wrists. “Not yet. It’s… been a while. I want this to last as long as possible.” Dragging her close, he lowered his lips to hers again, hauling her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and stumbled to his bed, throwing her down onto his sheets. Smirking up at her, he crawled up the mattress, pressing kisses up her legs, settling himself comfortably between her legs. “Look at you,” he whispered, pushing her knees apart. “Already so wet and I haven’t even touched you.”

“Cullen, please,” she could feel herself twitching under his heavy gaze. His chuckle was dark and low.

“Begging already? Such a good girl. Alistair mentioned how obedient you are in bed. Shall we test that?”

“My safe word is griffon,” she moaned as he blew a cool burst of air across her quivering mound.

“Safe word? How far do you and he go that you would need a safe word, Andraste have mercy.” Cullen closed his eyes, visibly struggling for control, jaw and fists clenching. When he opened them again, almost all of the amber had been swallowed up by the black. His fingers found her core the same time as his lips latched around her pearl, testing her responsiveness. He was not disappointed. Throwing her head back, Kiyone gasped sharply, hands clutching the sheets as she writhed underneath his ministrations, hips straining to bring him closer, deeper, nonsense words and his name flowing from her sweet lips like honey. Faster than he ever expected, her walls began convulsing around his hand as she panted her release, her arousal coating his bed and skin.

He stared down in awe at her, watching her chest heave, flushed skin rising and falling as she blinked up at him. “Holy shit, Cullen, that was…” she sighed happily. “Come here.” Eagerly, he climbed up the rest of her body, propping himself up, hands on either side of her head. Leaning down to nuzzle one of her breasts, he hissed, feeling his shaft rub up against her center, the heat practically scalding him.

“Is this,” he licked his lips, studying her face, “Is this okay?”

“Cullen,” she reached down to wrap her fingers around his rock hard member, Cullen crying out at the pressure. Slowly, she guided him to her entrance, pushing her slick folds apart, rubbing his weeping head into her own juices, “Fuck me.”

There was no way in heaven or the Void that he could have denied that simple request. In one swift thrust, he entered her, electricity racing down his skin as her sweet, tight warmth welcomed him. Lean legs wrapped snugly around his his lower back, her hips rising to meet his brutal thrusts, fingernails digging hard enough into his shoulders to leave marks. Growling at the sharp pain, Cullen bent over, biting just below her collarbone, creating a brand of his own. She screamed as her back arched, throwing her head back as the pain melded into sharp, sweet pleasure, exposing her throat to him. Grabbing his hand, she placed his fingers around her throat and squeezed. “Maker’s breath, Ki,” he gasped, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, leaving his other around her neck where she placed it. “You-”

“Right there, pleasepleaseplease,” she whimpered, lost to the sensations of his cock pounding her deep within, her clit grinding against his pelvis with each stroke, his fingers lightly massaging her windpipe, promising of things yet to come.

“You want to come?” his voice was low and rough, tension suffusing his tone as he struggled to hold himself back.

“Yes, please, Cullen! Let go. It’s okay. Let go for me.” His eyes locked onto hers, drowning in the dark depths.

“You-” He licked his lips, unable to find the right words. He was never good with words anyways, being more of a man of action. He could show her. Tilting his hips back, Kiyone tried to scream as he found that perfect sweet spot inside of her, but his hands around her throat restricted her air, only a wheeze being able to escape. It was like slow, sweet suffocation, drifting on a lazy cloud of pleasure, building in pressure and intensity until it felt like she would burst through her own skin. Wave after wave of the most agonizing, punishing release found her then, her mind clouding with lust and desire, only vaguely aware of Cullen asking her where he should finish.

“Inside,” she murmured softly. “Alistair said he wanted to lick me clean of your seed after we were done.”

That was it for Cullen. Voice caught somewhere between a growl and a roar, he buried his face in her hair, gasping as he pumped her full of load after load of hot, creamy come, splattering deep inside of her womb. Careful to not crush her, he cradled her trembling body under his, the irony of which was not lost on him. _At least now she’s not terrified of me_ , he thought wryly. For a handspan of moments, he allowed himself to drink her completely in. “Thank you.”

She snorted. “I should be thanking you. I can’t feel my legs,” she complained to his smug grin. Sighing, she sat up, Cullen rolling to the side, still trying to catch his breath. Her smile was bright and happy as she raked her gaze over his naked body. “Tomorrow. Join me and Ali for supper?”

“I will.”

“Good.” Dropping a sweet, tender kiss to his lips, she stood up shakily, retrieving her clothes from his floor. Then, she was gone.


	17. Chapter 17

Alistair was waiting to pounce on her as soon as she walked back in. Slamming her against the door, he ripped off her cloak and shift, his cock already straining under his loose trousers. “How did it go?” he muttered, examining her skin. Calloused fingers found the bite mark under her collarbone before she had a chance to answer. “He marked you.” Kiyone anxiously looked up at him. Was he upset? Did he regret letting her go?

“He’s agreed to come to supper tomorrow night,” she replied softly, twining her arms around his neck.

“Did he come inside of you?” his voice was harsh and demanding.

Silently, she nodded, suddenly afraid to speak. Nostrils flaring, his lungs sucked in a deep, sharp breath, eyes reflecting the single, flickering candle in the room. Grabbing her wrists in a vice-like grip, he hauled her to their bedroom, practically throwing her face first into the mattress, shoving her upper half down into the soft covers. 

“Stay there. Don’t move,” he ordered. She heard his knees hit the carpet, felt his fingers spreading her cheeks open and dip into her cunt, swirling the mix of Cullen’s seed around with her nectar. “Fuck.” He set upon her like a starving man presented with a feast, noisily slurping and sucking every inch of skin, tongue delving into every crevasse, determined to lick up every ounce of the other man’s bitter spend.

Kiyone was still hypersensitive from her last orgasm, the sensation of his tongue and lips almost painful to her swollen clit. “Alistair, please,” she sobbed. Her cries fell on deaf ears as he continued to devour her, moaning into her drenched skin, drowning in the scent of her sex and Cullen. Ignoring the fact that she found her peak once, twice more, he never let up on the sweet torture until he was completely satisfied and she was a limp puddle against the bed. He wiped his mouth and bent over her.

“You smell like him,” he whispered, teasing her opening with his cock. All she could manage as a response was a tiny whimper and a twitch of her hips. With a long, drawn out groan, he slowly slid into her, her walls so wet and slick that there was almost no friction at all. It was heaven. “How did he fuck you, hmm? Did he go down on you? Did you taste him?”

“He went down on me,” she gasped, his slow, sweet strokes a glaring counterpoint to Cullen’s violent thrusts. “He _consumed_ me. He-”

“Did you come from his tongue?”

“Yes,” she groaned. “He fucked me after that. Me on my back, my legs wrapped around him, so he could go deep, so deep.”

“Like this?” Snapping his hips, Alistair plunged further within her, delighting in her sweet screams.

“Yes, just like that, Ali, I need-”

“Shh, love.” He resumed his steady, languorous pace. “So tomorrow, hmm? You’re probably going to be sore.” She nodded into the bed. “But you like it when you’re sore, don’t you? Barely able to walk. Fucked so thoroughly, everyone who sees you will know it, know that you are a little whore, my little whore,” growling into her ear, he wrapped one arm around her, finding her swollen nub with his fingers.

“Your little whore, yes, Alistair, please!” Kiyone didn’t have the energy to moan as she orgasmed, let alone scream. Wordlessly, she grappled with the sheets, burying her face into the mattress as he sped up, hips jerking out of rhythm the closer he got to his own end.

With a final gasp, his arms gave out from under him, his chest colliding with her back as he drained himself inside of her, smiling at the wanton thought of his seed mingling with Cullen’s inside of her. “You are perfect, did you know that?”

“I am tired. And sticky,” came the response. Chuckling, he withdrew, wetted a towel and gently wiped her down, blushing at the bruises that now littered her skin. She really was amazing. Made for him. Who else would go along with his crazy plans? Submit to him so deliciously? Be willing to be shared between him and another? Entertain the thought of him with another man?

“I am never letting you go.”

“Better not. I’ll stab you.”

“Goodnight, wife.”

“Night, husband.”

***

Rolling over the next morning required a monumental effort that she was not prepared for. Everything from her neck to her knees ached with the most bittersweet pain. Smiling as the memories of last night returned to her, she felt the bed dip beside her, armor softly clanging as Alistair pressed a kiss to her head.

“Rest today, love. You still look exhausted.”

“Not my fault,” she yawned, snuggling back down into the sheets.

“I’ll come back around lunchtime, okay?” A response never came. Smiling to himself, he saw she had already fallen back asleep, her full lips slightly parted. His sword buckled firmly to his hips, Alistair strolled out of his room, whistling a merry tune as he headed down to the hall, grabbing a few rolls and some cheese before trotting off to find the Commander.

Cullen was already down on the training grounds, alert and sharp, barking orders at his grumbling soldiers. “Well, aren’t you just the picture of contentment today.”

He whirled around, coloring a deep red as he shyly glanced over at the husband of the woman he had fucked the night before. “It was a good night,” he replied simply.

“Seemed like it,” Alistair grinned. “I think you broke my wife.”

“Is she okay?” Cullen’s eyes opened wide.

“Just tired. And sore. Very sore,” smirking, he offered the Commander a roll. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did. Maker’s breath, but this is weird, Alistair. I’m standing here, talking about sleeping with your wife to your face.”

“Isn’t it though?” he grinned, stuffing the rest of his food in his mouth. 

“Kiyone is-” he cleared his throat. “You are a very lucky man.”

“Don’t I know it?” mumbling around the last bit of his food, he swallowed, wiping the crumbs off of his face.

“And you’re completely okay with this? That I was alone with her last night?” Cullen was still incredulous over this fact. He could understand a threesome, but for it to have been just the two of them…

“It’s you,” he shrugged. “With anyone else, yeah, I’d be jealous, but you’re… different. I trust you. And I know how much Kiyone loves me, and I her.”

Grumbling under his breath, Cullen muttered, “Still weird.”

“You still coming by tonight?”

“I should say no, shouldn’t I?” he sighed. “This is entirely inappropriate.”

“Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun. Besides, you need an outlet for all your stress. You’re a better Commander today, haven’t you noticed? How’s the withdrawals?”

“They haven’t bothered me since last night,” he admitted.

Alistair beamed over at his friend. “See? We’re doing the Inquisition a favor. Don’t bail on us tonight.”

“I won’t.”

***

“He’s not coming.” Kiyone glanced over to where her husband laid sprawled out along the sofa, staring into the fire.

“I’m sorry, love.” Sitting down beside him, she tucked her feet under her legs, resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe something else came up?”

“Maybe. It’s probably for the best though. I mean, you’re probably still sore, aren’t you?’ His hand squeezed her thigh affectionately.

“A bit,” she admitted. “But nothing too bad.”

“Soo…” Smiling as she felt his fingers trailing up her legs, she turned her face towards his. A knock sounded at the door.

Kiyone giggled as Alistair practically leapt off of her, sprinting to answer. Throwing it open, he grinned at the nervous man on the other side. “I thought you got scared off.”

“I’m so sorry,” he shook his head, walking inside. “The last war meeting went a little bit overtime.”

“How’s your interaction with Evelyn?” Kiyone smiled knowingly.

“Ah, better, actually, after we, you know,” he blushed. “I can concentrate around her a little better, make less of a fool out of myself.”

“We’re helping,” Alistair proclaimed, handing him a glass of wine. “Have you eaten yet? No? It’s a bit cold by now, but still good. I swear, we haven’t eaten this well in… actually, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten this good without having to hunt and kill the food myself. And even then, it’s only good when Ki cooks it. I’m still hopeless at it.”

“Yes, you are.” Reclining on the couch, she munched an apple while Cullen and Alistair ate, the latter eating his second supper of the night, finally able to sate his Grey Warden appetite thanks to the cooks at Skyhold. Content to merely listen to them talk, she relaxed with her wine, only perking up when the Winter Ball was mentioned. 

“We’re leaving in three weeks. And yes, Alistair, Leliana wants you and Kiyone to come. She asked to me tell you both that the seamstresses will be here tomorrow to take your measurements. And you both have to learn to dance passably well.”

“A ball?” She lit up like fireworks. “With a fancy dress? And dancing?!”

“Seems that way,” her husband grinned at her exuberance. “Ki is an amazing dancer. She probably doesn’t need the lessons at all.”

“I don’t know any of the courtly dances here, but it shouldn’t be too hard for me to learn. It has been awhile though,” she sighed wistfully.

“At least someone will enjoy themselves there,” Cullen grumbled, pushing his plate away.

Walking over to sit next to his wife, Alistair called over his shoulder, “Do you still play chess, Cullen? Want to have a go?”

“Of course,” he replied, slightly surprised. “I didn’t think you still played.”

“Kiyone plays with me sometimes, but she claims our boards are unnatural and evil, so it’s been awhile.”

“They are,” she pouted. “Whoever heard of hexagonal boards?”

Cullen frowned. “What else would they be? I’ve never seen anything else in my life.”

“Square?” shrugging, she ignored his confusion and got up to retrieve the bottle of wine. “Are you two going to play or not?”

“We’re playing,” Alistair assured her. “You're going down, Commander.”

“Hardly.”

The next thirty minutes passed in almost absolute silence, the soft click of wood against wood and the crackling of the logs the only sounds in the room. Kiyone was bored. So bored. What could she do…

A slow smile spread across her face as she stood up, slipping into their bedroom, the men completely oblivious to her whereabouts. Quickly removing her dress, she found the lacy nightdress that Lady Josephine had given her the other day, with a full set of new, frilly smalls and other pretty underclothes that she greatly appreciated. Pulling a robe over her skimpy ensemble, she crept back out, artistically arranging her limbs along the sofa, and pulled her book back out.

“We’re almost done, love,” Alistair called out, not looking up at her.

“Don’t mind me,” she replied. “Take your time.”

Cullen noticed first, her bare ankle hanging off the edge of the couch, tapping out a senseless rhythm. From there, his gaze traveled up, breath hitching as he saw how short her shift was, barely covering the juncture of her thighs. One of her shoulders was bare and a single dark brown nipple was just visible behind a layer of thin, sheer lace, the other hidden behind her robe. The tiniest of smiles danced around the corner of her lips.

“Alistair,” he croaked.

“Hmm?” the other man glanced up. “What- oh.” Keenly aware of the two sets of eyes now focused solely on her, Kiyone shifted, still pretending to be engrossed in her book, letting her robe slide completely off of both shoulders. The black silk clung to her curves, concealing all the parts of her body that they wanted to see the most. “This is new.”

“Do you like it? The ambassador gave me a whole box full of new clothes,” she replied casually, still sipping on her wine. “Including a ton of new frilly underthings.”

“New under-” throat suddenly dry, Alistair swallowed, draining the rest of his glass in one gulp before pushing the chessboard away. “Cullen, I forfeit. I need to check on… underthings.”

“That’s fine,” he murmured, his amber eyes still glued to the edge of her gown. Kneeling in front of his wife, Alistair peeled off his shirt and leaned forward, running his rough hands along the soft flesh of her inner thigh. A soft hum broke free from her lips, her book finally laid to the side, forgotten. Kiyone offered Cullen a warm smile, patting the seat next to her in invitation. Stumbling, he jerkily lumbered over to the sofa, transfixed at the sight of Alistair’s hands disappearing underneath the sheer fabric, her head lolling backwards against the cushions.

Pushing her husband away with her feet, Kiyone smirked and stood up. “Shall we, gentlemen?” Turning away, her hips swayed with each step towards the bedroom, the dark shadow of the crease of her ass peeking through the silk lace. Taking one look at each other, Alistair and Cullen raced to the other room, pulling off the rest of the clothes and flinging them to the floor as they went. Her breath caught in her throat as she turned back, presented with the sight of both of the men, naked, firm muscles gleaming in the moonlight, cocks proudly erect, waiting for her attention. “Oh,” she breathed.

“I believe we should show our guest the proper hospitality, don’t you think love?” Alistair moved behind his wife, pressing her back to his chest, his hands teasing at her breasts while Cullen watched, breaths already coming harder. He lightly shoved her to the ground. “On your knees.” 

Obediently and without hesitation, she dropped to the floor, scooting closer to the Commander until he could feel her breath on his sensitive skin, hot, and willing. He couldn’t move if he wanted to at that point, frozen in place as her tongue darted out to taste his skin, flicking against the edge of his head. Cullen hissed, fists clenching at his sides. Ducking her head to hide her smile at his reaction, she gently ran her tongue up the seam of his balls, sucking one into her mouth and swirling it around before drawing the other in. “Maker’s breath,” he gasped, “Ki.”

Sliding her lips over his tip, she hummed as she took as much of him in as she could, gagging slightly when his tip brushed the back of his throat. He wasn’t as thick as Alistair, but he was longer, with the most delicious upward curve. Groaning as she remembered how he felt inside of her, Kiyone got to work, moving her hand over his base, teasing the underside of his shaft with her tongue, her lips creating the most perfect suction around it all.

“Grab her hair, control her,” Alistair called from where he had seated himself in a nearby chair, idly stroking himself as he watched. “Use her. She loves it.”

It was all too perfect, Cullen thought. She was such a graceful, wanton creature, and Alistair, he was- His fingers tangled in her soft hair, sharply yanking her into place. Her answering moan sent tingling vibrations deep into his shaft, spreading through his tightening balls. “Do you want me to fuck your mouth?” He gently traced a finger down her face, feeling his member through the side of her cheek. Her enthusiastic nod was all the permission he needed. “Good answer.” Holding her head in place, he used her to pleasure himself, gently brushing away the tears that sprung to her eyes as he cut off her air supply with his length and she gagged at the way he hit the back of her throat. Fingernails dug into his thighs as she urged him to go faster.

“Make her swallow it. All of it,” Alistair’s voice was hoarse now, precome coating his cock as he pumped himself faster.

Cullen’s hand grabbed both sides of her head now, hips thrusting into her eager mouth, her lips sliding up and down along his shaft, tongue flicking over his slit. With a sharp cry, he felt his balls clench, and spill out, her throat convulsing around him as he held her still, forcing her to drink every last drop of his come. “Maker’s breath,” he gasped. Releasing her, she popped off of him with one last swipe, licking her lips as she stood up.

Crossing the room in three, swift steps, Alistair grabbed the hem of her shift, tugging it up and off, admiring her new smalls for about half a second before he ripped those off as well. “What do you want, Cullen?” he asked the other man, who was now leaning against one of the bed posts for support.

“I think I should return the favor,” he murmured, smirking at her wide eyed expression. “On the bed.” 

Alistair climbed onto the mattress first, settling himself with his back against the headboard, pulling her to lean back against him. It was the perfect vantage point to watch Cullen as he went down on his wife. Grinding his erection against the small of her back, his fingers pinched and rolled her nipples, teasing her as the Commander made himself comfortable on his stomach, tracing a long, calloused finger along her seam. “She’s always so wet, isn’t she? So ready, for whatever you want to do to her?” One hand raised to rest against the base of her throat, not squeezing, simply letting the weight of his hand remind her of what was still to come. She whimpered softly. And then bucked forward, moaning as Cullen dove right in, licking and tasting her everywhere except where she wanted him. His tongue poked gently at her entrance, fingers tracing delicate lines down her folds, one hand smoothing over her hipbone, all too soft, too faint, not enough pressure. “He’s teasing you, isn’t he? Giving you everything except what you want?”

“Yes,” she wailed, hips wriggling against the bed.

“Looks like tonight is going to be a long night, then.” His tongue finally moved into position, flicking roughly against her pearl, eliciting the sweetest shriek from her lips as he pushed her closer, closer-

And stop. “No!” she gasped, both men chuckling darkly.

“We have all night,” Cullen grinned at her look of dismay as she realized what was going to happen.

“Flip over, love,” her husband ordered her. “Hands and knees.” Obedient as always, she turned around, her lips immediately finding his dripping tip, lapping up his leaking come with renewed enthusiasm. “Oil is, ahhh, in that drawer,” he groaned, pointing at the dresser across the room. Grabbing the small vial, Cullen returned the bed, letting a bit of the sweet vanilla oil dribble onto her other entrance. Torturously slow, he worked the tip of one finger past the ring of tight muscle, gritting his teeth as he felt her clench around him.

“Relax, sweetheart. That’s it,” rubbing soothing circles into her back, he kept pushing inside of her, until his finger was completely inside of her ass.

“Give her more,” Alistair commanded.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen stared in awe as she eagerly accepted another finger, the two digits working in tandem to stretch her out. “I need to-” Grabbing his cock, hard once again, he slid smoothly inside of her wet core, groaning at the sensation of his fingers in her rubbing against his member. “So good.”

“Fuck, Ki. I wish you could see yourself. Every single hole filled right now, fucking you. I bet you still want more, don’t you? You always do, you greedy slut.”

“Alistair,” shaking with his attempts to keep his self-control, Cullen’s fingers gripped her cheeks almost painfully, “You need to stop talking.”

“Maybe you should make me.”

Both men froze, Alistair blushing with the realization of what he had just said. Cullen reacted first. Growling, he withdrew from Kiyone, yanking her off of Alistair as he presented the other man with his length, slick from her juices. “Suck.”

He needed no other encouragement. Falling to his hands and knees, he clumsily wrapped his lips around the other man’s cock, groaning at the taste of his wife on his skin as he sucked and licked. It was all Kiyone could do to just stare at the men. That was her husband, her dominant husband who craved control with her, willingly sucking another man’s cock. And not just any man. The Commander of the Inquisition, no less. It was… magnificent. Cullen’s eyes found hers, hungrily watching the scene before her. “Alistair, enough,” hissing with the effort, he shoved the man back. “Weren’t we doing something else?”

“I believe we were. Is she ready yet?”

“Almost.”

“I’ll finish it, then.” Cullen nodded and sat back, pulling the woman towards him and positioned her over his throbbing length. In one swift motion, he pushed her down, holding her to his chest as she cried out against him. His hips rolled a few times then stilled within her, frustrating and unfulfilling. Until she felt pressure, poking at her puckered ring again. Slippery fingers once again breached her, the burn of her body stretching consuming her senses. Dazed, she rocked against Cullen’s body, struggling to find whatever friction she could.

“Please tell me she’s ready,” Cullen begged. “I can’t keep still any longer.”

“Ready,” Alistair rasped. “Easy now, love, that’s it, breathe.” Paralyzed, she forced her lungs to expand, feeling his broad tip slowly start to push inside of her. _Fuck, he’s so big. It’s like the first time I had sex with him all over again. It’s too much, I can’t do this, I can’t-_

With a final, breathy sigh, he was fully inside of her. “So full,” she gasped. “Fuck, Ali.”

“Can I move?” Cullen all but demanded, his cock twitching inside of her.

“Slowly,” she nodded. With the greatest show of control she had ever seen, he acquiesced to her wishes, dragging his strokes out to a snail’s pace, Alistair moving in tandem behind her, both men trying to find the rhythm that would satisfy her the most. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against her husband’s chest and allowed herself to simply feel. Someone’s hand covered her breasts, teasing her heavy orbs, while other fingers found her clit, rubbing firm, impossibly slow circles into the aching nub. They were everywhere, all over her skin, caressing her intimately, splitting her in two, reducing her to a babbling bundle of nerves. It was perfect. Alistair kept up a steady stream in her ear of praises and dirty phrases, Cullen panting softly before her, moaning at the other man’s words and the feel of her tight, hot sheath. Her lust and desire, heavy and tense, coiled through her belly, spreading in warm waves up through her chest, down across her limbs. Soon, the only words she could manage was, “Please.”

Fingers quickened around her pearl as hips increased pace and depth, hands holding her in place as they brought her closer to her end, the pressure mounting, so close, almost, she- A hand closed around her throat, a broken groan emanating from the man in front of her. With a shattered scream, she came hard around them both, Cullen following her into the bright darkness mere seconds later, Alistair grounding them both to reality while they drifted in a seemingly endless haze of pleasure. Three thrusts later, and he joined them, growling as he found his release.

Carefully easing out of her, Alistair collapsed on the bed beside the other two, smiling at the sight of his wife boneless and limp against Cullen’s heaving chest, their combined fluids dripping onto the sheets. “I think I died,” the Commander muttered, beyond content to just lie there for the rest of eternity.

“Mmph,” was the only response Kiyone could manage. Padding softly to the washbowl, Alistair rung out a wet cloth and cleaned them all up, before climbing into the bed next to them. One of her eyes peeked out at him from behind her curtain of dark hair and she smiled. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

“Better,” he sighed happily. “What about you two?”

“That has to be illegal in at least four countries, what we just did,” Cullen shook his head. “But, Andraste preserve me, was it worth it.” He opened his eyes, gently stroking her hair. “I should go.”

“Stay,” Alistair suggested. “At least for a little while.”

“Are you sure?” He hadn’t been expecting this. Just sex, and then leave. That’s what was safe, right? What did it mean if he stayed? Did it have to mean anything?

“Stop thinking,” Kiyone flicked his ear. “I can hear it over here. It’s late. Just sleep here for awhile. You can sneak back to your room early tomorrow.” Sliding off of him, she tumbled down to the soft bed, immediately snuggling up against her husband. She held out her arms for Cullen.

It wouldn’t hurt to stay, this once. Allowing himself to have this, he curled up around the couple, blissful and content and so light for the first time in years.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen starts to get a bit darker here.

“You look inordinately pleased with yourself.” Kiyone smiled up at Hawke, feet dangling off the wall as they watched the Commander and her husband spar below.

“It’s a good day,” she winked at the rogue, a sly smile on her lips.

“Or at least the view is,” he teased. “I can’t believe that’s the same Knight-Captain from Kirkwall. I never knew anyone could change that much. If I hadn’t seen him with my own eyes, I would have called everyone a liar.”

“I know, right? It seems like he’s a completely different person. It’s really rather admirable how far he’s come on his own,” she mused.

“Is that the only thing you’re admiring?” the rogue laughed. “Careful, Ki, you’re drooling.”

“I can look,” she shrugged, completely unrepentant. “Besides, just look at him. Both of them. All sweaty and muscles bulging and-”

“Did someone say bulging, sweaty muscles?” The Tevinter mage she had met briefly before grinned as he dropped down beside them. “The ambassador sent me to find you as the seamstress is here, but I must admit, this is thoroughly more entertaining than even the allure of new clothing.”

“Isn’t it though?” she sighed happily. “Well, I suppose I should go, then.”

“Don’t worry, your handsome husband and the dashing Commander are in good hands,” the altus grinned. “I will admit to having some jealousy that you are married to that.” Looking down to where he was pointing, she felt her knees go slightly weak at the sight of Alistair and Cullen, their swords pressed against each other as they grunted and vied for dominance, straining as each refused to back down. _Oh, dear._

“Hopeless even after all these years, aren’t you,” Hawke laughed, loud enough to distract the warriors below. Alistair’s eyes caught hers as Cullen muttered something too low for anyone else to hear, then shouted in triumph as the former Warden stumbled, succeeding in driving him back. With a roar, he recovered fast enough to charge at the Commander, headbutting him in the stomach, both men crashing to the ground as they flailed around more like teenage boys, not the esteemed and decorated military men they both were. Sighing in exasperation, Kiyone rolled her eyes and started to move away.

“I can’t watch this. It’s too painful.”

“I can,” Dorian eagerly peered over the edge of the wall, rubbing his hands together in delight. Giving a final push, Alistair threw his fists in the air, laughing while sitting on Cullen’s back, the latter groaning into the dirt.

“He’s going to be impossible the rest of the day,” she sighed, a small smirk betraying her feigned annoyance. “Alright, I’ll see you gentlemen later.” Tossing a wave and a kiss down to her victorious husband, Kiyone disappeared back into the keep, navigating the winding halls up to the ambassador’s room, pausing to softly knock.

“Mistress Theirin! Please, come in,” the Antivan woman beamed at her.

“Please, Kiyone is fine,” stepping into the room, she gasped in wonder, taking in the rich, embroidered rugs and the delicate, dark cherry wood furniture. “Your room is gorgeous, Lady Montilyet.”

“If you insist I call you by your given name, you must use mine as well,” Josephine smiled. “It’s all Antivan furniture. A little slice of home, to help me feel less homesick. I’m pleased you like it. If you will,” she motioned to a small stool in front of a mirror.

Stripping down to her smalls, Kiyone stood with her arms hugged around her body, waiting patiently for what seemed like hours as the seamstress measured every inch of her body, holding bolt after bolt of every shade of red imaginable up to her skin.

“It is fortunate that the Theirin house colors are so similar to that of the Inquisition,” the woman mused, selecting a particularly deep shade of crimson. “It will look lovely against your skin. I believe I have everything I need, Lady Montilyet, Lady Theirin.”

Cutting Kiyone’s protest at the title off, Josephine smiled graciously to the seamstress as the woman gathered her things. “Thank you, Mistress Catherine. Now, Kiyone, I’ve taken the liberty of selecting this dress,” she smoothed out a flowing gown of navy silk, “as it’s most similar to the style of what you shall be wearing at Halamshiral. I’m gathering up a few people to begin learning a few of the more common dances. We’ll be gathering in the downstairs ballroom. Take the stairs in my office down, and you will find it.”

Nodding, she let out a sharp, breathless gasp as a servant cinched a corset tightly around her waist, tugging the cords into place. “Um, Josephine? Am I supposed to be able to breathe?”

“Not really, I’m afraid,” the ambassador smiled apologetically. “Perhaps you should wear one from now on to get used to it? It would not do to pass out the night of the ball.” _Oh, fuck me sideways. I had to open my big mouth_ , Kiyone groaned internally.

“Of course, Josephine.” Trying to force at least some oxygen into her deprived, pancaked lungs, she couldn’t help but admire her new curvaceous figure, accented by the midnight blue silk and cream lace of the dress. Giggling to herself, she spun around as the last button was fastened, sighing shallowly in happiness at the extravagant luxury.

“You look lovely, my lady,” the maid smiled up. Opening her mouth, Kiyone scowled as Josephine tugged on her arm, gently shoving her out the door, once again halting her denials. 

Stumbling slightly, she paused outside the room, carefully holding up her skirts with one hand and rested the other on the wall for balance. It took a lot of mental capacity, she soon realized, to walk in the heeled shoes and not trip over the layers of skirt while remembering to breathe. Years had passed since she had worn anything besides her armor, leggings, or that one, simple dress from Kirkwall. _Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything like this. Straight up Victorian era shit._

It took far longer to make it down to the lower levels than it should have, but seeing the gathered group’s face as she walked in was worth the probability that she would faint. Alistair, his damp, freshly washed hair almost a burnished red in the torchlight, gaped as she stepped into the room, Cullen muttering a hoarse, “Maker’s breath,” to his side.

“Still alive, I see,” she chuckled, taking a quick inventory of a few new bruises she saw peeking around the edges of their tunics. Offering her a sheepish smile, Alistair quickly crossed the stone floor to her, lifting her hand to his lips.

Kissing her wrist, he shot her a wide grin. “I totally kicked his ass. Did you see?”

“Only because I let you,” came the gruff response.

“Ha!”

“Boys,” she laughed. “Behave.”

“How can we,” Cullen moved silently behind her, grabbing her waist as he pressed his chest to her back, bending to trail a string of soft kisses against the exposed column of her neck. “When you’re dressed like that?” Moaning softly, she relaxed into his embrace, watching her husband’s eyes grow darker.

“How long is this thing supposed to take?” he groaned, running his thumb lightly over the swell of her decolletage. Suddenly, the sound of voices and footsteps clattered down the stairs, Cullen practically jumping away as if scalded, ducking his head to hide his incriminating blush.

“He’s too big to move that fast,” Kiyone complained to no one in particular. “It defies the laws of physics.”

“Laws of what?” Cullen called from where he now stood, ten feet away. Alistair shrugged, by now used to her strange phrases and curses.

“Ah, excellent, everyone is here,” Madame Vivienne, a former First Enchanter of the circle, smiled serenely at the trio as she regally swept in, motioning for Maryden, the bard, to take a seat in the corner of the room. Evelyn trailed in behind her, arm in arm with Dorian. “The altus and I will be demonstrating the dances for each of you, so pay attention. Commander, with the Inquisitor, Master Theirin, with your wife, please.”

“This is such a waste of time,” Cullen frowned as he moved to awkwardly take Evelyn’s hand, looking everywhere except at her. “We’re going to the ball to stop an assassination, not have a party.”

“Already tired of dancing with me?” Evelyn teased.

“N-no, it’s not that, Inquisitor,” he mumbled. “This part is quite nice, actually.”

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow. 

“I meant, only that, er, you seem like you would be a lovely dancer, and-” Alistair snickered softly, a low whoof escaping as his wife smacked him in his stomach. Sighing, Cullen glared over at the other man. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Despite the mens’ protests, the dance steps came relatively easy to both of them, the footwork not so dissimilar from their fighting styles. Alistair could barely tear his eyes away from Kiyone, her entire face bright and joyous as she effortless absorbed every musical note into her memory, gracefully moving in time with the lute. He felt that pang of guilt as he did every time he watched her dance, regret coloring his thoughts that he could not give her all of her heart’s desires, regardless of how often she assured him that she was happy as they were. Moving amongst the two couples, Dorian and Vivienne paused often, correcting the position of their hands and feet.

“My dear Commander, you must stop staring at your feet. Especially when you have such a lovely partner in your arms.” A strange, strangled noise was his only response.

Vivienne sighed. “Very well. Switch please. Perhaps this will help your concentration.” Cullen was torn between wanting to flee as far as possible from the tempting Inquisitor as soon as the order was given, and holding her tighter, never letting her go. He opted to instead, casually drop her hand, grimacing as Alistair offered her a flourished bow.

“Lady Trevelyan, if you would honor me?” Her bright emerald eyes smiled at him, giggling as the former Warden tenderly kissed her hand. Stiffly, Cullen turned away from his friend’s taunting smirk, pulling Kiyone close to him. This was infinitely more comfortable, he thought. Until he glanced down, straight into the depths of her cleavage.

“Andraste preserve me,” he muttered. “What did I do to deserve this torture?” Laughing, Kiyone took his hand, rearranging it on her waist.

“It’s not that bad, Cullen. You’re doing quite well.” Resigning himself to his fate, he tried to keep his focus on her face and her murmurs of encouragement. _Maybe this isn’t so bad. As long as she’s the only person I ever dance with_ , he thought wryly. A hushed whisper, followed by a light feminine giggle caught his attention, Alistair grinning down at the Inquisitor before they both turned to stare at him.

“I am going to kill your husband, Ki.” _What in the Void is that man up to?_

“Oh? That would be a shame, as I’m particularly fond of him most days. And also, since I haven’t gotten my chance to watch you both,” she whispered. Stumbling, her hands caught him as he stepped on the hem of her skirts, all the blood in his head suddenly rushing south.

“W-what?”

She merely smirked at him, dusting off imaginary dust from his shoulder. “Will we see you tonight?”

He shouldn’t. Not again. It was inappropriate and risky. What would happen if someone found out? What would the rest of the advisors say? What would the Inquisitor say? Amber eyes caught pale blue, the freckles on his cheeks crinkling as Alistair smiled over at Cullen. “Of course.”

“That’s it for today!” Dorian clapped. “I must say, this went a lot better than we expected, with much less kicking and screaming.”

“We will resume in three days, just after noon, if you please,” Vivienne nodded to them all, before briskly ascending the stairs back into the main hall.

“We have to do this again?” Cullen’s skin paled to an ashen, waxy pallor, his fingers rising to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I have so many other things, necessary things I need to be doing, not-”

“It’s only for an hour, Cullen,” Evelyn pat his arm sympathetically. “And we leave in another three weeks, so it’s not for much longer.”

“Still a waste of time,” he grumbled.

“Well, I think it’s sort of fun,” Alistair declared. “Do you both have anymore work today? Care to grab supper, maybe a pint?”

“I can,” Evelyn perked up.

“I’m afraid I must decline. I am already behind on several reports,” Cullen sighed. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Frowning, the Inquisitor watched as he disappeared from sight. “Does he never take a break? I swear, all that man does is work. Rarely eats, drinks, sleeps.”

“He’s devoted to his cause. Always has been, I suspect he always will be. But he’s not here now, so if you’d like, I can tell you all sorts of embarrassing stories of him as a recruit,” Alistair grinned.

“Yes, please!”

***

Yawning, Kiyone pushed the door to their room open. “That was nice. I like her, she’s sweet.”

“She is,” Alistair agreed, leaning over to unlace his boots. “It drives me crazy though, how much she and Cullen both want each other and he doesn’t do anything. He’s madly in love with her, she is either in love or head over heels in extreme lust with him and he just- uggghhhhh,” flopping backwards, he sprawled across the sofa, rubbing his face with his hands. “By the way,” his voice growing softer, “Have I told you how incredible you look in that dress?”

“Only a few times. I could stand to hear it a few more,” she teased, kicking off her heels. “Oh, fuck, my feet are killing me.” Standing up, Alistair quickly walked over to her, grabbing her behind her back and knees and swept her into the air. “Ali!” she squealed. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you,” he nuzzled her cheek, laying her down on the plush sofa, and picked up one of her feet. Her head and limbs went limp as he dug his thumbs into her arches, eliciting the sweetest moans from her lips. “Is Cullen coming tonight?”

She snickered. “If he is, then definitely.” As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door, Alistair shouting through the heavy wood for him to come in. A weary Commander shuffled in, eyes bloodshot and exhausted. “Long day?”

“The longest,” he sighed. “I swear, some of these recruits have nothing inside their skulls at all. I have to explain the most simple tasks in such excruciating detail to the point where I would just prefer to throw them all off the battlements and fight Corypheus alone.”

“I’ve got something that will make you feel better,” Alistair smirked. Perking up, Cullen moved to stand behind the couch, looking down at the couple. Dark eyes smiled hazily up at him, warm, tanned limbs stretching sinuously above her head.

“She was being naughty today, you know. Tempting me with images of you,” he growled softly, “When the others were mere steps away.”

“Was she?” Alistair glanced up at her innocent face, her shoulders rising with an nonchalant shrug. “Punishment should fit the crime then, don’t you think?”

“Precisely what I was thinking.” Together, they pulled her to her feet and led her into the bedroom, Kiyone’s curiosity peaked, moisture already pooling between her thighs. Warm fingers tugged at the laces of her dress, slipping the smooth silk off her skin.

“The corset? Please?” A low moan rumbled through her chest as Alistair’s hands grazed the hollow of her throat, his teeth nipping at her sensitive ears. Waiting in anticipation of her freedom from the bone-lined corset, instead she gasped as rough hands tugged the cords even tighter, her lungs constricting even further. “Cullen?”

“Minx,” he growled from behind her, tugging her arms overhead. Tying her wrists securely together, he looped the cord over one of the bedposts, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Helpless, she writhed against the carved wood, breasts straining against the woven fabric, the tips of her dark nipples just barely visible.

“That is perfect, Cullen,” Alistair breathed.

“She’s perfect,” he agreed. “Now for your punishment my dear. You get… to watch,” he grinned, dropping to his knees. Alistair shot a panicked look down at the other man.

“W-what?”

“Is this okay?”

Mouth opening and closing without any sound, it took a few moments for the question to process through his wool-stuffed head, finally managing to give him a shaky nod.

“Good,” Cullen smiled. His fingers tugged at the laces to Alistair’s breeches, pulling the worn leather along with his smalls down for him to kick off. 

She couldn’t have looked away if she tried. Her husband’s thick erection bobbed inches from the Commander’s lips, Alistair staring in awe at the kneeling man before him, licking his lips in anticipation.

“Cull- aahh!” Tentatively, Cullen reached out with a calloused hand, lightly stroking Alistair’s velvet length. Memories of whispered sighs, hurried nights, and secret trysts came back to them both in a flood of emotions. Bringing himself closer, Cullen wrapped his lips around Alistair, his scar stretching over his girth, Alistair throwing a hand out to brace himself against the furniture. “Fuck, Cullen,” he groaned, desperately trying to reign in his self control.

“You taste just like how I remember,” Cullen murmured, losing himself in the taste and feel of his first love. The bitter saltiness, the scent of warm almonds and cinnamon, the musk of the man he had become- it filled a hole in his heart that he hadn’t even realized was empty. Long fingers tangled in his curly locks, gripping tightly. Swirling his tongue like Kiyone did, Cullen smirked to himself as Alistair bucked under his hands, crying out sharply. One of his fingers snuck back to lightly press against his rear entrance, Alistair’s thrusts into his mouth getting harsher, almost painful.

Mouth open in a silent scream, Alistair tensed for just a moment before coming undone with a long wail, hot ropes of cream spilling into and around Cullen’s mouth. “Maker,” Alistair panted, fully leaning against the armoire now. “That was…”

Cullen stood, his eyes dark as he stalked over to where Kiyone stood still, flushed and gasping for air. “Clean your husband off of me.” Immediately, she raised up on her tiptoes, eagerly licking every drop of Alistair’s spend from Cullen’s face. “Such a good girl,” he cooed. “May I?” glancing over at Alistair, who shakily waved at them both, Cullen gently bent over to kiss her, his tongue fighting with hers to submit.

With a lazy motion, he ripped her smalls off of her body, pulling the soaked material taut against her seam, Kiyone jerking back at the sudden, bright pain. This wasn’t like last time, she thought to herself. This Cullen was darker, hungrier, no, ravenous. A rough finger shoved up inside of her dripping core, testing and teasing her arousal. “There are so many more things I want to do to you,” he muttered, running his teeth over her soft skin. “I wonder if you would let me?”

“Yes, please, anything,” she begged, already mindless with want, her arms straining against the bindings.

“Anything?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Uh… No blood,” she amended. “No permanent marks or scars.”

“Ki?” Alistair called out, his brow furrowing. 

“It’s okay, love. My safe word, it’s-”

“Griffon,” Cullen answered for her. “That damn word has haunted me since the first night.” Leaving her for only a moment, he rustled through his clothes, pulling out a plain, sharp dagger. Her eyes went wide at the sight of it.

“Cullen,” Alistair warned, voice low and menacing.

“She has her safe word, and I’ll respect that, Alistair. I need- I just need-” Visibly struggling with himself, he gritted his teeth, shame suffusing his features. “No, you’re right. This is wrong. I’ll just-”

“No, Alistair, it’s okay,” Kiyone called. “Cullen, come back. You know my limits. No blood, no scars, my safe word. He needs this Ali, and I can give it to him.” Two pairs of eyes rested on her, silent and breathless. “I trust you, Cullen,” she whispered. “Whatever you need.”

“You trust- Maker’s breath.” Hesitantly, he approached her again, feeling the weight of her husband’s stare on his back. “If it’s too much, you’ll tell me?”

“And you’ll stop,” she replied confidently. Slowly, with agonizing patience, he raised the dagger to her collarbone, tracing the flat of the blade along her skin.

“This is wrong,” he whispered hoarsely. “Maker forgive me, but I…” Drawing the metal back, he smacked her sharply against her thigh. Kiyone moaned. Over and over he left welts across her skin, her legs, her arms, her breasts that he pulled free from their confinement, tracing thin red lines with the tip. She burned under his ministrations, the pain dragging across her senses mixing with the sweetest pleasure. It was so much more than she had ever experienced, and all she wanted was-

“More.”

A feral growl tore through him as he flipped the dagger around, blade pointed to the ground. Taking the hilt, he gently nudged her legs wider, rubbing the ridged handle into her dripping cunt. “You actually like this,” he stared. Kiyone could only whimper. Steadily, with a precision borne of decades of training, he fucked her with the dagger’s hilt, watching in awe as she ground against his hand.

“Andraste preserve me,” Alistair couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He knew she liked it rough, yes, but this? This was beyond him. And yet somehow, it was the most intoxicating thing he had ever seen. The absolute trust she had in him, in both of them, was nothing short of miraculous.

“Theirin,” Cullen growled. “Shall we?” Grabbing the vial of oil from the nightstand, Alistair all but sprang off the bed where he had been sitting, pouring a liberal dollop onto his fingers.

“Fuck, she’s so tight,” he gasped even as his finger easily slipped past the ring of muscle, feeling the hilt of the dagger thrusting inside of her other entrance. “Ki, are you okay?”

“Don't stop,” was all she could manage. “Please, more.”

“Switch with me,” Alistair handed off the oil to Cullen, the other man coating his rock hard member in the slick fluid, laying the dagger on the bed to his left. Meeting only the slightest resistance, he slid in behind her, groaning at the sensation of her ass snugged up against his hips. “That’s it love,” Alistair murmured, teasing at her core with his tip. “Relax for us.”

“Ali, please!” she gasped. Pressing deep inside of her, Alistair stilled as she suddenly came with a broken sob, overwhelmed by all the sensations flooding her system.

“Maker,” both men gaped, her body pressed firmly between theirs. “She’s too tight like this, I’m not going to last long.”

Cullen grunted in response, grabbing the dagger once more and sliced through her stays, flinging her corset off to the side. Oxygen crashed back into her starved lungs, then sudden release tipping her over into another orgasm, gasping into Alistair’s neck. Without any further hesitation, they began moving within her, a delicious game of push and pull, grind and roll, hands tweaking her nipple, digging into her hips, pressing against the particularly red and angry looking welts, biting her neck.

“Can you come again?” Cullen desperately needed for her to come again.

“I-I-” Changing his angle, Alistair’s pelvis began to rub against her pearl, the tip of his cock dragging against that swollen, rough patch deep inside of her, thrusting brutally as deep as he could. Kiyone screamed, a blinding wail, her nails clutching his arms so hard she drew blood. The sharp, stinging pain combined with her voice and the erratic pulse of her walls around his throbbing length was too much, his hips stuttering as he came with a roar, Cullen just behind him.

“Fuck,” she muttered. “Can someone untie me? I can’t feel my arms.” Hastily, Cullen cut her wrists free, rubbing the circulation back into the abused limbs.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t apologize,” she shook her head. “Not for that. Not for any of that. Holy shit, I’m so tired now.” A sleepy giggle surprised them both. “I’m a mess. Look at me.” They glanced down to where she was pointing, at the myriads of little marks that now littered her skin, her ass and thighs dripping with their seed.

“A beautiful mess,” Alistair agreed. Trying his best to pull out smoothly, she still winced at the loss, Cullen taking the rag from the other man and cleaning them all off before lifting her into bed.

“Thank you,” he whispered reverently, resting a hand on her smooth stomach, nuzzling her cheek. “It seems trite and insufficient, but thank you.” Sighing, she wrapped an arm around each of them, pulling them in to rest against her. Intertwining his legs around hers, Alistair reached over her, lacing his fingers around Cullen’s.

“You don’t have to hide who you are around us,” she said softly, Alistair nodding his agreement. 

“We were best friends, once. I’d like to be again.”

“It seems like it’s… more than that, now,” Cullen admitted. “Deeper.”

“I’ll say,” Kiyone snorted. Chuckling, Alistair leaned over to leave another hickey on her breast. “Hey!”

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Cul,” he smiled. “We care about you, just the way you are. Darkness and all.”

“It seems surreal.” The demons in his head were mercifully silent, for the first time in years. Startled at the realization, he wanted to sob at the quiet peace.

“The soreness and exhaustion overtaking my entire body says this is very real. As will be my anger if both of you don’t shut up and go to sleep,” Kiyone grumbled.

“As the lady commands,” Cullen laughed. He was the last one to fall asleep, watching the other two as they dropped into peaceful slumber. How did he get so lucky? To be accepted despite how twisted he had really become. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, welcome to the beginning of the depths of my depravity? I guess.


	19. Chapter 19

Alistair’s back was pressed against the tree, the rough bark digging into his brocade jacket. Her skirts were bunched around her waist, mouth wrapped around his straining length. Behind her, Cullen mindlessly pounded away inside of her, the stress of the ball that was looming over him slowly beginning to unravel as pleasure took over, her warmth enveloping him, body, soul, and mind. The world around them faded away as the trio lost themselves in each other, tightening, gripping, feeling, a maelstrom of tension and desperate release. Grasping at the tree behind him, Alistair gave a low, muffled cry as he emptied himself into his wife’s mouth, her pink tongue greedily lapping his salty seed up from her skin. When the last of his shivers died away, he dropped to his knees, his fingers reaching for her hips and own lips eagerly searching for her swollen nub, tongue flicking over her and the place where she and Cullen were joined. Cullen gasped at the new sensation, sending tiny tremors racing along his skin. Her hands clutched Alistair’s shoulders tightly, bracing herself against the Commander’s powerful thrusts, moaning at her husband’s clever mouth, his hands digging into her firm thighs, keeping her upright as she came hard around his tongue and Cullen’s cock, biting her hand to smother her screams. Three rough strokes later, he groaned as quietly as he could manage, spilling deep inside of her.

Wiping off his mouth, Alistair grinned cheekily at the others, helping to rearrange Kiyone’s skirts and pat her hair back into place. “You know, when I suggested a walk to clear your mind, I really meant just a walk,” he chuckled.

“I may have gotten a little carried away,” Cullen admitted, tucking his shirt back in. They had been wandering the woods around the chateau they were staying at in Halamshiral, killing time before the preparations for the night began. He had run over his plans, and contingency plans, and the contingency plans' back up plans so many times, he had begun to lose his mind. So Alistair had suggested a walk before lunch, to help calm and refocus the Commander. One thing had led to another, and, well…

“You’ll never hear me complain,” Kiyone giggled, taking her husband’s hand as they walked back in view of the manse.

“I’ll be so thankful when tonight is over,” Cullen muttered, running a hand through his golden waves. “Just one more night.”

“A night full of Orlesians,” Alistair scowled. “And I’m being offered up as bait.”

“I’ll protect you, love,” she leaned over to kiss his freshly shaven cheek.

“And that is my only source of comfort. That, and the fact you’ll be in a dress,” he winked.

Shaking his head, Cullen muttered, "Andraste preserve me."

***

It was every bit as horrible as he feared. Pressing his back to the wall, with only a potted plant to stand guard beside him, Cullen braced himself against the swarm of handsy nobles who would not leave him be.

“Are you married, Commander?”

“Do you fancy women or men, Commander?”

“Quite an accomplishment for a mere commoner as yourself to become the Commander, don't you agree?”

It was incessant. Gritting his teeth, he did his best to remain polite and aloof, spending his time searching out Alistair and Kiyone in the crowd. As expected, the nobles all took the bait that was the bastard prince, completely forgetting about the Inquisitor, who was currently absent from the ballroom, yet again.

His wife’s hand firmly trapped within his, Alistair did his best to mingle, feeling his face flush a bright red at all the lewd questions the Orlesians dared to ask him. If they could join him and his wife. If they could borrow his wife. If he would wear a crown and punish them. If he would enjoy being collared like a mabari. Complaining about the lack of exotic foods and certain perfumed soaps, the trade affected by the civil war. Complaining about their 'useless knife-eared servants'. Complaining about every spoiled thing under the sun. “I can’t believe these people,” Kiyone hissed during one of their rare lulls. “Are they are seriously that fucking stuck up their own asses? People are dying out there, their people, and all they care about is their own wealth and pleasure. It’s sickening.”

“It’s Orlais,” Alistair sighed tiredly. “Aaaand here comes another.” Before he knew it, she was taken from his arm and being led out onto the dance floor, her face polite and resigned as she graciously accepted the lord’s pudgy hand. Stepping back a few paces, Alistair found himself next to the grim faced Commander, noticing the thick vein in his temple twitching as it did when he was distressed. “Cullen, you okay?”

His nod was abrupt. “They won’t quit touching me,” Cullen snarled. “It is maddening. Where is Kiyone?”

“With Lord Wandering Fingers,” Alistair growled, his expression matching the other man’s. Together, they stood there, silent and still like murderous statues, watching Kiyone impatiently trying to redirect the noble’s hands away from her ass.

“Smile,” Leliana hissed as she passed them. “Both of you. We are at a ball, not an execution.”

“The night is still young,” Cullen smirked. He was almost right.

Less than an hour later, the Inquisitor ran in, her staff slung over her back, covered from head to toe in blood. “I’ve got to address the court,” she gasped. 

Empress Celene was saved, reunited with her elven lover Briala, and Gaspard had been led away to face his fate, set for a later date. It was over. It was finally, blissfully over. Yet still they were here, and still he had to stand in the ballroom, watching the nobility fawn over the Inquisitor. He could tell she was uncomfortable, by the stiffness in her spine, that she was exhausted, by the way she leaned just a little too heavily on the railing. As she flinched from the firm grip of one lord’s hand around her waist, his lips on her cheek lingering for too long, Cullen took a step towards her, fingers twitching angrily.

“Cullen, you can’t,” Josephine appeared as if by magic at his side. “She is capable of taking care of herself.”

“You’d let them just paw all over her? She is the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, not some common tavern whore,” he spat.

“It’s part of the Game,” the ambassador replied simply. He had enough. Of Orlais, the nobility, their fucking Game and disregard for reality. Wordlessly growling, Cullen turned and stomped away, desperately in need some air.

“Commander?” Alistair practically had to jog to match steps with Cullen. “What’s wrong?”

“This place, this fucking place,” he snapped. “We should have just left it all to burn.” Feeling a sharp pang lance through his skull, Cullen staggered against a wall, groaning as he fell. Strong hands caught him before he did any serious damage and he was vaguely aware of Alistair leading him into the cool night air. The fresh air swept through his exhausted body, soothing his frayed nerves by the smallest fraction.

“What do you need?”

“I need- Fuck,” he hissed, pain wracking his body. Grasping his arm, Alistair slowly walked with him across the springy grass, leading him over to a stone bench, just inside the tall hedge maze in the far western gardens, set into a shadowed alcove away from prying eyes.

“Lord Theirin!”

“Shit, not now,” Alistair muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Wait here, Cullen. I’ll send Ki out, okay?” He managed a tiny nod, but even that small motion was almost too much to bear. Resting his head against the scratchy topiary covered wall behind him, he summoned his templar training with the last vestiges of his strength. _Focus. Breathe. In. Out. Clear my mind. Breathe._ It helped a bit, but not nearly as much as the feeling of her cool hands on his temples, rubbing soothing circles into the feverish skin.

“Does that help?” she murmured, settling lightly beside him.

“Yes,” he whispered, sagging against her, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Humming a soft tune under her breath, she gently yet firmly began kneading the muscles of his neck, easing up when he cried out in pain, pressing harder as he relaxed once more. And then she began to sing.

_We all lead such elaborate lives, wild ambitions in our sights  
How an affair of the heart survives, days apart and hurried nights  
Seems quite unbelievable to me, I don't want to live like that   
Seems quite unbelievable to me, I don't want to love like that   
I just want our time to be slower and gentler, wiser, free _

_We all live in extravagant times, playing games we can't all win  
Unintended emotional crimes, take some out, take others in _

_I'm so tired of all were going through, I don't want to live like that  
I'm so tired of all were going through, I don't want to love like that   
I just want to be with you now and forever, peaceful, true _

_We all lead such elaborate lives, we don't know whose words are true  
Strangers, lovers, husbands, wives- hard to know who's loving who _

_Too many choices tear us apart, I don't want to live like that  
Too many choices tear us apart, I don't want to love like that   
I just want to touch your heart   
May this confession be the start _

Eventually, his body went completely limp, the throbbing in his head almost fully receded, her fingers smoothing the last of his knots away as her voice faded into silence, leaving only the sounds of crickets chirping in the darkness beyond. “You are a miracle,” he sighed, nuzzling her sweet skin.

She laughed lightly, turning her head to kiss his temple. “I try,” he felt her smile against his face.

“Ki, I-” He was lost as she drew back slightly, her dark eyes shimmering in the bright moonlight, rosy lips curved in an alluring smile. His hand trembled slightly as he raised it to her face, tracing the delicate curve of her high cheekbone.

“I know, Cullen. Me, too,” she murmured, covering his hand with her own. Groaning, he pulled her on to his lap, siding his hand up along her silk covered thighs. This was wrong. He couldn’t be in love with her. After all, he still loved Evel- the Inquisitor, even though that was better left unrequited. And there was Alistair, too. He couldn’t love more than one person, and definitely not the wife of his best friend. He should get up, take her back inside, make sure everything else was okay. At that moment, sweet and willing, her lips descended on his, cupping his face in her hands. With a devotion that surprised him, she slowly devoured his mouth, teasing and tempting him with her tongue, holding him so close, as if she were afraid he would disappear on her.

“We shouldn’t, not out here,” he gasped, feeling her fumble for his belt. Slender fingers tugged on his stiff member, freeing it from the confines of his trousers, holding it steady as she raised her hips, her smalls shoved to one side, and sunk down to the hilt in one smooth motion, her mouth in a perfect O shape as she savored the feel of him. “Ki,” he begged, staring up at her. “Someone will- _fuck_ \- find us and- oh, _Maker_ -” 

All of his protests died on his tongue as she began to writhe against him, grinding into his hips, her arms wrapped around his neck, nipping at his lip. In almost no time at all, he felt her walls convulse around him, her fingers tightening painfully in his hair as she muffled her moans into his jacket. Grunting, he grabbed ahold of her hips, thrusting deeper within her, the sound of their skin slapping together and sharp pants practically drowning out everything else around them. Silently, his muscles tensed, everything trembling as he spilled inside of her, hot come dripping down his shaft, dangerously close to his pants.

“Shit, I can't go back-” Pulling out a handkerchief from a hidden pocket, she slipped off of him and wordlessly cleaned him up, pulling away to smooth her skirts back into place and fix her makeup, while he tried to make himself presentable again, combing back his tousled hair.

They both felt it. Something had changed this last time. It wasn’t about the sex anymore, not the rough, primal coupling they were used to. It was… deeper. Softer. More tender. And infinitely more dangerous. What the hell had she been thinking? _I love Alistair, more than anything, but Cullen… God help me, I love him, too. But so does Alistair. I can’t imagine my life without either of them anymore. This shit is way too complicated. What are we supposed to do?_ To her side, Cullen appeared to be struggling with the same dilemma.

“Are you okay?” Her fingers gently grazed his velvet covered arm.

“I- I think so,” he nodded. “Shall we?” Slipping her arm through his extended elbow, they walked silently back inside, where the ball was still in full swing, the conversation a little louder, the dancing a little wilder.

“There you two are,” Alistair grinned as he met them just inside. “Cullen, your Inquisitor is outside. Looks like she could use a friend.”

“I…” his gaze drifted to the other end of the massive, sparkling room, where he could just make out the figure of Evelyn Trevelyan outside on the balcony, wearily slumped over the railing. “I believe I shall. If you’ll excuse me?” 

“Is everything alright, Ki?” Pale blue eyes studied hers with great concern, noticing the hesitation in her eyes, the slight furrow of her brow.

“Yes? No? I have no idea, Ali,” she sighed.

“Talk to me,” he murmured, drawing her in close. “You smell like him, you know.”

“Yeah, probably. Not here. Later, after all of this is over. It can wait, love,” she reassured him. “I love you, you know that?”

“And I you,” he smiled, trying to suppress the sense of unease rising, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Come on. I saw a servant bring out more of those tiny cakes you liked."

*** 

The lights of Orlais lit up the horizon, sparkling in the dark like hundreds of tiny fireflies. She missed fireflies. Not like there were many in Arizona, but back in her hometown, near the beach in South Carolina, there were always dozens of them in the summer. Armed with a mason jar, as a child she would scamper around her backyard, bare toes curling in the soft grass, trying to catch as many as she could to add to her collection. How they had sparkled when she finally gave them their freedom, swirling up to the heavens. It had been such a simpler time.

Warm hands rested on her waist, his breath hot on her neck. She was leaning against the doorframe of the balcony door, staring at the city below them, arms tightly crossed and hugging herself. 

“You love him.” His voice was low, and oddly calm, sending a shiver down her spine.

“I do,” she whispered. “I love you, too, though.”

“And if you had to choose?” he murmured, brushing his fingers along her edge of her satin shift across her back.

“You,” she replied automatically. “Always you. But it would break my heart to leave him.”

“Ki,” he breathed. “Look at me.” Her head shook, a few tears that had slipped down her face flying off into the dim room.

“I’m sorry,” her voice began to waver. “I never meant for this to happen, I didn’t think it could happen, but-”

“Hey.” Walking around to her front, he tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “This whole thing started because of me. Because I asked you to. So if we’re assigning blame, then it’s my fault. Not yours.”

Helplessly, she collapsed against his chest, the tears coming faster now. “This is all so confusing.”

“I never meant for it to be,” gently stroking her silky hair, he laid his cheek against the crown of her head. “This is because of my own selfish desires. I wanted you, and I wanted him. Maker help me, I- He loves you as well?”

“I think so.”

“And I love him, but you already knew that. I guess the real question is, does he feel the same way about you as he does me?”

There was no answer to be had that night. Sighing, she turned away from the open balcony and climbed into the soft featherbed, the dip of the mattress almost swallowing her whole. Alistair got in beside her and held out his arm, to which Kiyone responded by snuggling decisively into his warmth and tangling her legs up with his, blocking out the chill of the room. 

“No matter what, I will always be here for you. And I will always love you.”

“I know. And I for you.”

It was hours before the Fade took either of them that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters brought to you by late night binging on oreos and musicals on YouTube.


	20. Chapter 20

Evelyn frowned as she stared out over the vast, neverending expanse desert that lay before her. The pace set by the army was slow, practically a snail’s pace compared to what she was used to when she traveled with just her and three other companions. The long march gave her too much time to think. And so, as they always did, her thoughts turned to her Commander.

Cullen. He rode slightly behind her at the front of the procession, his normally impassive face even more stern and tense than usual. It surprised her, when he had appeared next to her at the ball and tried to comfort her. Even though she could tell his mind was far, far away. But he had asked her to dance. “Might as well put those lessons to some use,” he had smirked. His soft embrace, the tender gaze had given her hope that maybe, maybe he wanted her, too. But now he sat astride his horse, practically ignoring her, back to the clipped, formal persona of before. What did he want?

She knew her Commander well enough to know that something was wrong. Was it his lyrium withdrawals? He had been doing so much better recently. For the first time since she had met the man, she witnessed him smiling and laughing, even joking with his men. Ever since… Alistair. He changed soon after the former Grey Warden had arrived with his wife. She supposed it was good for him, to find friendship with the couple, but she couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that crept in when she spied him acting so casual, so _normal_ with them. And not her. Never her.

Speaking of the Warden, Evelyn realized she hadn’t seen much of the man or Kiyone on the trip. Just assuming they were somewhere back in the column, they really hadn’t crossed her mind much. But it was odd. On the way to Halamshiral, Cullen and Alistair could often be found together, playing cards or chess at nights when they stopped to camp, their laughter filling the air. But now? He was nowhere in sight.

“Cullen,” she turned to the stoic man behind her. “Is Alistair with us? Or did he go back to Skyhold?”

“He is with us,” the man replied, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead.

“You don’t know where?”

“In the back, I believe. Do you have need of him? I can send a runner.” His voice was calm and smooth, but the twitch in his jaw betrayed his agitation.

“No, I was just curious. I haven’t seen much of him or Kiyone this trip,” she mused, Cullen falling silent again. What was going on? “Did something happen?”

“What?” His head jerked up, amber eyes blinking almost frantically. “I, um, no. Nothing has happened. Well, not technically. I mean,” rubbing his neck, as if he could force the words out that way, he groaned.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” she murmured.

“No, it’s- it’s fine,” he sighed. “Honestly, I’m not sure what’s going on either.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Evelyn offered him what she hoped was a confident smile. “He’s your best friend after all, right?”

“...Yes, he is.”

***

Neither of them really talked much on the long journey to Adamant. The unforgiving sun beat down on their heads during the day, making them both cranky, Alistair especially with his fair, easily sunburnt skin. The army stopped every midmorning to make camp and rest until dusk, preferring to cover the most ground during the freezing nights, but sleep was nearly impossible in the stuffy, sweltering tents. Kiyone tried her best to keep them both cool, keeping up a constant frost spell to soothe his ravaged skin, but eventually even that became too much for her mana stores and Alistair finally convinced her to leave it be.

So when the Inquisitor finally called a halt a day’s ride from Adamant, giving them all a chance to rest through the night, the entire army practically wept with relief. Wearily falling from the saddle, Kiyone set about with the others, helping to string up the tents and prepare the fires while Alistair settled the horses down. The numerous chores passed quickly that night, the cool breeze making the tasks so much less of a burden. Darkness soon blanketed the desert and the fantastic sunset gave way to navy velvet, the temperatures plummeting until they could see their breaths as they spoke.

Alistair found her later that night curled up just outside of their tent, staring into the crackling bonfire, her empty bowl of stew laying in her lap. “Almost there.”

“We’re really going to war.” He followed her gaze to where it was focused, on the trebuchets and ballista in the center of encampment. “Ali… I’m scared. What if-”

“No,” dropping swiftly to the ground beside her, he gathered up her trembling hands in his own. “Don’t think like that. You won’t be able to focus if you’re too worried or frightened.”

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she turned to face him. “Do you think he’s worried? We haven’t talked to him at all this trip. Ali, if something should happen-”

“It won’t.”

“But if it does, shouldn’t we- shouldn’t he…?” Kiyone searched for the words she wanted to say, but they eluded her, dancing just beyond the tip of her tongue.

Alistair’s shoulders sagged a bit. “You’re right. Knowing him, he’s been beating himself up and is thinking this is all his fault. I’ll go talk to him.” Kissing her head, he dropped another blanket around his wife and headed further into the camp. All around, the mood amongst the soldiers was somber, people speaking in hushed whispers with the occasional chuckle floating through the air along with the motes of burning logs and the sound of metal blades swiping across whetstones. 

He found the Commander precisely where he knew he would, bent over the blueprints of the fortress, scout and status reports spread all around him. “Spare a minute?”

Cullen jerked his head up, wearily blinking at the other man. “I… really shouldn’t. There is much to be done.”

“I daresay you’ve already memorized every last word and schematic ten times over,” Alistair shook his head. “A short walk, then. Fresh air will do you good.”

Realizing he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, Cullen laid down his quill, a reserved and guarded expression behind his eyes. “Very well.”

Nodding at the few soldiers who raised a hand in greeting, the Commander silently followed Alistair out into the night, far enough away from the main camp to where they would not be disturbed, following the line of a cliff’s rocky overhang. Watching him scramble up onto a low boulder, Cullen raised his eyebrow, leaning against the nearby wall..

“So. I realize you probably think we’ve been ignoring you. Or I’ve been ignoring you. Or something. But we haven’t! Or maybe we have. Just a little bit. But definitely not for the reason you’re thinking, and uh…” Alistair scratched his head awkwardly. “Maker, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“What reason would I be thinking of?” Cullen asked stiffly, decidedly not looking at the other man.

“I’m not mad. And this isn’t your fault. Or anyone’s, really. I mean, we probably should have seen this coming,” he sighed. “You love Kiyone. And she loves you.”

“Fuck,” Cullen groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Alistair, I’m so sorry, I know you-”

“No, I don’t think you know,” he murmured, dropping down to stand in front of the mortified Commander. “Did you-” licking his lips nervously, he tilted his head back to stare at the stars. “How do you feel about… me?”

“You?” Cullen glanced up, confused. “You are… my best friend, Alistair.”

“Ye-ees, that I know,” he drawled. “But, is there anything, I dunno… more to it than that?”

“More to it- Oh.” Even in the shadows, Alistair could see his face burn bright red. “I- I don’t, um, I mean, I never really-”

“You know what,” he said suddenly. “Just forget about everything I was saying. I mean, it doesn’t really matter anyways, I suppose, grand scheme of things and all. I just wanted to say, I’m not mad at you Cullen. Or Ki. I’m sorry to have stressed you out more, Maker knows you don’t need that especially on a night like tonight and-”

“Alistair.” His low, smooth voice shut his rambling up immediately. Hesitantly, Cullen reached out and took Alistair’s hand, breathing an almost imperceptible sigh of relief as he felt fingers closing around his own. “Are you- are you asking if I want you?”

“Maybe,” he muttered. “Only if you want me just as much as you want Ki. Otherwise, I’m not sure how we would continue… whatever the hell this is. I love you, Cullen,” Alistair blurted out, heedless of the other man’s sharp inhale, “But I love Kiyone, as well. She’s my wife, I can’t- I can’t imagine my life without her. She loves you. And I, I don’t,” he choked on the rest of his words, ducking his head to the side.

“Look at me.” Two calloused fingers gently lifted Alistair’s flushed face back into the moonlight, a thumb coming up to softly stroke his stubbled cheek. “I didn’t really consider that you would want me, not like this,” Cullen admitted. “I always hoped, but after everything, I suppose I… Maker, why is this so hard?”

“Because we’re both terrible at words?” Alistair chuckled nervously, licking his lips. Dark amber eyes flicked downwards to watch his tongue flick against rosy reddened skin.

“Yes. We are.” Sliding his hard around to the back of Alistair’s neck, Cullen dragged him in close, hungrily devouring his mouth, groaning at the smell, the taste, the feel of this man, his first love in his arms again. Spurred on by the tiny moans and whimpers emanating from the serious Commander, Alistair pushed back, nipping at his bottom lip, swiping his tongue against his teeth. Demanding more access, he reached up and yanked a handful of blonde curls tightly back. Cullen hissed at the sweet pain and roughly shoved the other man back, pinning him to the wall of the cliff, grinding their erections together.

“Ah! Cullen,” Alistair gasp. “We shouldn’t, not out here. Someone might see. Or hear. Definitely at least hear.”

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re right. But I want, no, I _need_ you.” 

“After all this is over. Then I’m yours. We both are,” he promised.

“Both?” Drawing back, Cullen blinked his lust addled haze away.

“Ki and I. Both.” Alistair smirked at his incredulous expression. “We could do this, you know. The three of us. Maybe four, if the Inquisitor-”

“Don’t,” Cullen shook his head violently. “She is… not for me. Or this. Are you actually being serious? The three of us, in some kind of… relationship?”

“It would break Ki’s heart to lose you. As it would mine,” he said softly. “At least try? Don’t you want to at least try?”

“I…” This was crazy. It would never work. Someone would find out, and then- And then what? What was the worst that could happen, really? People would talk? No, it would be worse than that. If word got out that he was involved with two others, the bastard prince of Ferelden, no less, they would paint the Commander of the Inquisition as a sexual deviant. It was too risky. And yet… “We’d have to be careful.”

“The carefulest,” Alistair promised, grinning excitedly.

“That’s not a word,” he snorted, leaning over to rest his forehead against his lover’s. “This can’t be real.”

“I could pinch you, if you’d like,” he offered.

“Save that for later,” Cullen smiled. “Alright, let’s get back before tongues start wagging.”

The walk back was considerably more lighthearted than the stroll out, both men teasing each other as before, their laughs reaching the gathered men long before they entered the camp.

“Looks like they made up,” Evelyn mused. Beside her, Kiyone glanced up, a relieved smile curling her lips.

“Looks that way.”

“Wife!” Alistair waved. “Sing a song?”

“You sing?” Evelyn asked.

“I do. Or I did,” Kiyone tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“Sing for us!” The Iron Bull called. “May be the last pretty thing we all hear before we die.”

“Now there’s a lovely thought,” the Inquisitor shook her head wryly.

“I can only think of one right now,” Kiyone murmured. “It may not be the best for morale, but it’s fitting.”

“Go ahead,” Evelyn smiled.

She stared into the fire for several moments, melancholy and silent, long enough to where the people gathered around her started to think that maybe she wasn’t go to sing her song after all. Kiyone raised her flask, a pensive finger tracing the metal.

_Drink with me to days gone by  
Sing with me the songs we knew  
Here’s to pretty girls who went to our heads  
Here’s to witty girls who went to our beds  
Here’s to them and here’s to you_

_Drink with me to days gone bye  
Can it be you fear to die?  
Will the world remember you when you fall?  
Could it be your death means nothing at all?  
Is your life just one more lie?_

_Drink with me to days gone by  
To the life that used to be  
At the shrine of friendship never say die  
Let the wine of friendship never run dry_

_Here’s to you and here’s to me_

Not a sound stirred in the camp. No voices spoke, no metal clanged, no leather creaked. Taking another swallow of whiskey, Kiyone winced at the burn. “Sorry,” she broke the silence. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, it’s okay,” Evelyn smiled wearily. “It helped. To remind me, of why we’re here, what we’re fighting for. Friendship, family, life itself. It matters. What we do here, for the Inquisition, will be another nail in Corypheus’ coffin.” Her voice rose, growing stronger with each syllable, until every eye was upon her. “Remember what you have to fight for, what you have to live for. Be afraid, but be courageous. And rest assured if you do fall, you will be remembered and honored. Every single one of us, from you, to you, matters. We cannot do this without you. Tomorrow, we will help the Grey Wardens see reason, and we will snatch this so-called Elder One’s army right out from under him. For the Inquisition!”

A massive roar went up from the assembled crowd, the cry of “For the Inquisition!” ringing across the jagged crags and sand dunes. Cullen positively beamed at her speech, Alistair nodding his approval just behind him. Rising to her feet, Kiyone slipped away from the crowd, padding over to the men.

“That was beautiful, Ki,” Alistair kissed her nose. “So, uh, we…” She giggled, watching both of the intimidating warriors flush as they scrambled for words.

“We’re doing this?” she asked.

“I want to try,” Cullen replied quietly.

“Good,” she sighed happily, reaching out to caress his cheek. “I’m glad.”

Just steps away, Evelyn watched the exchange with a furrowed brow, noting with great interest the tender glances the three were trading. Curious and curiouser. It was a puzzle for another day, however. She had an assault to lead.

***

Blood. Everything was covered in blood. The walls, the floors, the people, her daggers, her staff, her armor, fuck, it was even in her hair and nose. So much blood. The copper scent was overwhelming. There were runners she was vaguely aware of, moving amongst the survivors, offering fresh water and jerky and biscuits, but she barely noticed them. All she could see was red.

“Ki, talk to me.” She felt like she should know that voice. It was in all of her recent memories, embedded in her very soul and yet, she couldn’t summon the recognition. So much blood. Someone’s crimson stained glove moved into her range of vision. A ragged gasp burst from her chest and suddenly she couldn’t stand it any long. She had to get away, find a place that wasn’t drowning in sticky red, maybe higher, up those stairs.

Staggering onto the battlements, Kiyone threw her stomach against the wall, retching up the contents of her stomach until her throat felt like it would melt from the acid, tears streaming down her face unchecked. A warm, clean hand gently pushed her hair back, rebraiding the loose strands so her face was clear.

“It’s ok, let it out. Maker, I’m so sorry, I never should have brought you here.”

“No,” she croaked. “I helped save a few lives at least. It’s okay, I’ll be okay, I just need… time. And a bath. And three years of sleep.” Wiping her mouth, she slowly slid down the wall, staring into Alistair’s pale blue eyes. “How’s everyone else?”

“Inquisitor is pretty shaken. That weird bald elf is probably the only one not still freaking out about the whole Fade trip. Cassandra and Varric are also pretty rattled. Hawke is… he’s angry, actually.”

“Why?”

“He thinks he should have been to one to stay behind, not Stroud.”

“I’m sorry about Jean-Marc,” she whispered, squeezing his hands. “What will the Wardens do now?”

“That’s precisely what I was going to ask you, Alistair.” They both glanced up at the approach of the Inquisitor, the woman trying to summon a friendly smile but her haunted eyes betrayed her recent trauma. “There are no senior Wardens left. What we have is a bunch of recruits who have only been around for a year, most less than that. They need an experienced leader.”

“Inquisitor,” he shook his head, “I was only a Grey Warden for a year and a half. And that was ten years ago. You can’t expect me-”

“But you’ve fought darkspawn multiple times since then,” Evelyn argued. “You know their tactics better than anyone else here. Most of those poor sods have never even seen a hurlock. They need you. I need you. Just for now. I’m recruiting them into the Inquisition until such time when Corypheus is no longer a threat. You don’t have to go with them after that. But while they’re with us, I need them to be trained and prepared. And these is no better man for the job than you.”

Groaning, he leaned back against the cool wall, letting his head hit the stone with a dull thud. “Join the Inquisition, she said. It’s the right thing to do,” he mimicked his wife’s voice, glaring at her. Kiyone shrugged. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Alistair. Or Warden Theirin, I suppose.” He groaned again. Together, they all rose up, Alistair supporting most of Kiyone’s weight as they walked back down to where the remaining Wardens were, sitting or laying on the sand covered ground, blankly staring at nothing.

“Men!” Alistair barked, gratified when almost every head swung toward him. “My name is Alistair, and it looks like you’re under my command for now.”

“Are you a Warden?” someone called from the back.

“I… was. I still have the taint, and I’ve fought darkspawn for the last decade.”

“Wait, _the_ Alistair? From the Blight?” A sudden rush of excited whispers and murmurs rippled through the ranks.

“Yes, the Blight, that was me, yay," he muttered the last under his breath. "Maker, I should really change my name,” he sighed. “Anyways. If anyone has a problem with my leadership, speak now.” No one dared make a sound. “Excellent. Those of you that are fit, go ahead and start packing whatever supplies you can find. The Inquisition will only rest here another day, then we make for Skyhold. Dismissed!” The Wardens practically leapt to their feet, boots scuffling in the dirt as they rushed to obey their new commander. “This should be interesting, at least.”

“How are you doing, Evelyn?” Kiyone reached out to take her hand, rubbing soothing circles into her smooth skin.

“I… It’s hard,” she admitted. “But we did it. So I should be happy, right?” Turning away, she gazed over the central courtyard, staring at the rows of the dead neatly stacked along the walls. “Such a waste. All of this destruction, for nothing.” Shaking her head, she glanced back at Kiyone. “Don’t suppose you have another song, do you?”

Cocking her head to the side, the other mage nodded. “I believe I do.”

_There’s a grief that can’t be spoken, there’s a pain goes on and on  
Empty chairs at empty tables, now my friends are dead and gone_

_Here they talked of absolution, here it was they lit the flame  
Here they sang about tomorrow, but tomorrow never came_

_From the table in the corner, they could see a world reborn  
And they rose with voices ringing, and I can hear them now  
The very words that they had sung became their last communion  
On this lonely barricade at dawn_

_Oh my friends, my friends forgive me, that I live and you are gone  
There’s a grief that can’t be spoken, there’s a pain goes on and on_

_Phantom faces at the windows, phantom shadows on the floor  
Empty chairs at empty tables, where my friends will meet no more_

_Oh my friends, my friends, don’t ask me what your sacrifice was for  
Empty chairs at empty tables, where my friends will sing no more_

One by one, the Wardens dropped to their knees, silent sobs wracking their bodies. “Our fault,” she heard them whisper. 

“And for what?” 

“What could we have done?” 

“Something!”

"Anything!"

“Mourn them,” Evelyn called out, their sobs stilling as her voice rang out. “Remember their names. And avenge their death. In war?”

Nodding, they slowly rose, spines straightening as they steeled their faces, determined and harsh. “Victory! For the Inquisition!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the whole Les Miserables theme I have going on was COMPLETELY UNINTENDED. I realized it after I wrote this chapter. It works though, so whatevs. Also, Hadley Fraser reminds me a lot of Cullen (face, hair, and his freaking AMAZING baritone) and I spent like 17 hours listening to that beautiful man sing. If you don't know who he is, youtube him. NOW.


	21. Chapter 21

Evelyn was so tired. She longed for just a few days where she could lay around Skyhold and do absolutely nothing, but there were too many rifts, too many red templars, too many Venatori. Barely spending a single night back in her fortress, it wasn’t long after she returned from Adamant before she was ushered back into the world, making for the Exalted Plains, then the Emprise du Lion.

The day she finally staggered back into the keep, Evelyn all but collapsed against the heavy oak table in the war room, begging her advisors to let her rest. “Just two weeks. A week? Please? I can’t keep going like this.”

Leliana frowned at the list of tasks she held in her hand, opening her mouth to retort just as a smooth baritone cut in.

“You’re right, Inquisitor, we’ve been pushing you too hard. You’ve barely had a chance to rest since Halamshiral, haven’t you?” She shook her head, pushing her dark, wavy tresses behind one ear. Cullen rubbed his neck. “We can give you some time to recover. Right?” He glared at the other women on the other side of the table, Josephine blushing shamefully.

“Yes, we can. I do apologize, Inquisitor, I did not realize.”

Only a slight tic in the spymaster’s temple betrayed her irritation. “Yes, a week or so should be fine. There is much we need to do in the meantime, anyways.”

“Yes,” Cullen examined a few blood splattered letters resting by his hand. “These letters from Samson will be quite useful. We may be able to pin down his base soon. Thank you, Inquisitor.”

It was several hours longer before they finally concluded all the business at hand. Or, more than likely, her stomach grew too loud for even Sister Nightingale to ignore and the woman finally relented and granted her mercy. 

Not giving anyone a chance to call her back, Evelyn bolted for the door and sprinted out of the keep, pausing only briefly in her room to throw on a worn pair of leggings and a loose tunic before making way for the only place she wanted to be right now- the tavern. It was blessedly loud in here, so opposite from the silent nights with only the howls of wolves and bears and the distant scream of demons to keep her company. Sinking down into one of the only empty chairs, she sighed in absolute bliss as Cabot slid her a full glass of red wine.

“You’re my hero,” she called out, the surly dwarf merely grunting in return.

Content to just sip her drink and watch the room, she smiled watching Sera spring backflips off of the Iron Bull’s shoulders, Bull throwing her higher and higher each time until the elf was screaming at him to stop. “I can’t fly, loony britches!”

“Next time, take them with you, please.” Kiyone flashed her a rueful grin as she slid into the seat next to Evelyn. “They’ve been getting wilder these last few weeks. I’m surprised Skyhold is still standing, honestly.”

Chuckling, Evelyn shrugged. “I’m headed to the Emerald Graves next. They’d probably like that. And I could definitely use some more humor on the road. I can only listing to recaps of old jousting tournaments so many times before I start to lose my mind.”

“That sounds horrible,” Kiyone shuddered. “So, tell me. How have you been?”

“The Inquisition is-”

“Nah, not the Inquisition. You. Evelyn. How are you doing?”

Evelyn blinked in surprise a couple times, staring at the other woman. “You know, I think you’re the first person that has asked me that since this whole thing started. Well, except Varric. He checks in on me once in awhile. Says he’s afraid I’ll turn out like Hawke.”

“I thought so,” she grimaced, catching the two tiny shot glasses Cabot slid them. “Everyone only sees you as the Inquisitor, or the Herald. People forget that you’re a woman under all of it.”

“Yes!” Evelyn enthusiastically slammed down the now empty glass. “Fuck! That burns. Cabot, what is this?”

The bartender shrugged. “Bull said you’d like it.”

“Put some chest on your chest!” the Qunari roared from across the room.

“I think my chest is fine,” she frowned down at her bosom.

“Your breasts are wonderful,” Kiyone assured her..

“Really? Because I think you’re the only one who’s appreciated them recently,” she grumbled. “Everyone’s too afraid of offending the Herald of Andraste to get close to me.”

“Been awhile?”

Evelyn nodded morosely. “Forever,” she sighed. “For awhile I thought, Cul- well. Someone was interested, but I guess not. How’s Alistair, by the way?”

“Busy. He spends most of time now with the Grey Wardens, and has been gone quite a bit to clean up a few remaining pockets of darkspawn in Ferelden. He got back this morning though,” she said brightly. 

“You’re lucky,” the Inquisitor replied wistfully. “To have someone you love so much, that love you back.”

“I know,” Kiyone smiled. “Believe me, I know.”

“Soooo,” Evelyn shifted slightly in her seat. “How are Alistair and Cullen getting along still?”

“Like children,” she laughed. “It’s rather endearing watching them, although sometimes slightly annoying. They are very competitive.”

“He’s been good for Cullen,” she remarked, hopefully casually.

“Mm. As Cullen has been good for Alistair. It’s nice to see this lighter side of them both. This world has a tendency of dragging you down.”

“Don’t I know it,” Evelyn muttered. “And what have you been up to?”

“Helping the mages, mostly. Learning about potion making. Oh! Blackwall is making me shoes,” Kiyone said brightly.

“He’s… what?” she blinked in confusion. “Has he taken up cobbling?”

“They’re a special type of dance shoe I used to use, and since he's good with tinkering and stuff, I thought maybe he could make me a pair," Kiyone shrugged. "They would allow me to dance on my toes, made from layers stiffened leather and canvas. I’m not sure if he’ll get it right,” she confessed, “But it’d be something.”

“You’ll have to show me when they’re done. I can’t imagine dancing on your toes.” The very idea made her foot cramp.

“I will,” she promised. “I will.”

***

“Cullen working late again?” Grabbing her book, Kiyone settled down in front of the fire, tucking her feet underneath her.

“Seems like it,” Alistair called from their bedroom. The three of them didn’t spend every night in the same room, but they at least tried to eat supper together. More often than not, however, it was only Alistair and Kiyone, Cullen sequestered in his office the long hours of the day, working well into the night. “How often were you able to drag him away while I was gone?”

“Not nearly enough,” she pouted. “Freaking workaholic. So I had a few drinks with Evelyn tonight.”

“Did you?”

“She’s lonely.”

“I can imagine.” Stepping back into their sitting room, now dressed in only a loose pair of breeches, Alistair collapsed on the sofa. “Maker, I’m so sore. I’m out of practice fighting darkspawn. Plus I’m no spring chicken anymore.”

“Yes, you’re positively ancient,” she drawled. “C’mere.” Lighting up, he happily wiggled across the cushions until his back lay against her chest, moaning slightly as her hands began to knead out of the worst of the knots.

“You’re my favorite, did you know that?”

“Liar,” she flicked his ear. “Anyways. Evelyn. Lonely.”

“Got that,” he muttered, wincing as she rubbed a particularly tender spot.

“And Cullen is still in love with her.”

“And? He’s already made it clear he won’t pursue her.”

“True. But what if he just happened, to… I don’t know, stumble into her one day?”

“Ki…” he craned his neck backwards to pin his wife with a stern glare. “What are you plotting?”

“Mischief and mayhem, obviously. I’m just saying, what if Cullen walked in on her… and me. Naked. Doing things. What do you think he would do?”

“Probably bolt out of the nearest window and fall into the nearest chantry to beg forgiveness,” Alistair replied dryly.

“Ugh. You’re probably right,” she huffed. “Dammit.”

“You just wanted to get the Inquisitor naked,” he teased.

“So?” she retorted. “She’s hot. And it’s not right. I mean, she’s arguably the most powerful woman in Thedas and she’s sweet, and kind, and helpful, and gorgeous, and-”

‘I get it, I get it, she should have her own personal harem by now,” Alistair chuckled.

“Yes! Thank you!”

“You thinking of cheering her up?”

Eyeing him, Kiyone cocked her head at her husband. “Would you mind?”

“Cullen might,” he said honestly. “But I wouldn’t, you know that.”

“Hmmm. I’ll see what happens.”

“You know, if you do manage to get them together,” he sat up and twisted around, drawing her into his lap. “We might lose him. I don’t know how she would take to our little arrangement.”

“I know,” laying her face in the crook of his neck, she traced idle circles through his chest hair. “But he would be happy, right?”

“Maybe. I don’t know how he would feel having to choose between us or her.”

“Fuck. Why is everything so complicated?”

“It’s love,” he shrugged. “Isn’t it supposed to be? That's what the bards say, at least.”

“Ours wasn’t,” she grumbled. "And fuck the bards."

“We were one of the lucky ones.” Lifting her chin, he nibbled a line of sweet kisses up her jaw. “Do whatever you think is best, Ki. Just… be careful, okay?”

“I will. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. Maybe I should talk to him first?”

“That might be best.”

***

Several days passed before Kiyone was successfully able to drag Cullen away from his work, by sitting firmly on his desk and straight out refusing to budge until he came to supper.

“Maker’s breath, Ki, I have a dozen more reports to write.”

“And those reports will be there after supper. Cullen, you’re exhausted. What quality of work can you provide when you’re tired as shit?” her voice was testy, foot tapping against his chair. “Supper. Sleep. You need it. Your men need you to need it.”

He had noticed his temper getting worse recently, directly correlating to the increase in his headaches and nightmares. The men were jumpier than usual as well, walking on eggshells around their tempestuous Commander. “Fine,” he sighed. “Andraste knows I can never refuse you anything anyways.”

Kiyone beamed up at him, hopping off the desk to throw her arms around his neck. “Good. We’ve missed you,” she murmured as she wiggled against him. He felt his body immediately respond, the heated flush she brought to his skin, the warmth that pooled deep inside of him.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he dropped his head, sighing contentedly as her lips met his, a sweet promise of things to come. “Let me change, and I’ll be right there.”

“Thirty minutes,” she warned as she turned to go. “Or I will send Bull to come tie you up and drag you to our chambers by force.”

“Promises, promises,” he called back.

He was true to his word and showed up only ten minutes after she arrived back, greeting Alistair with a long, drawn out kiss. “I’ve missed you,” the Warden muttered huskily, tugging Cullen’s blond locks closer.

“I know I’ve been neglecting both of you. I’m sorry,” Cullen sighed. “There’s just so much to do, and-”

“Yes, yes, so little time,” Alistair laughed. “Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Kiyone rolled her eyes, throwing a bread roll at his head. Grinning, he caught it with his mouth. “So talented.”

“Wait until you see what else I can do with my mouth,” sliding into his chair, he winked. “So I think we’ve sealed up most of the darkspawn tunnels along the Storm Coast now. Inquisitor said there’s been a few reports of sightings in the Western Approach?”

“Mmm,” Cullen nodded. “Do you think you’d feel comfortable sending a few of the Wardens out there to stay at Griffon Wing? Rylen’s out there, he’d take good care of them.”

“Should be fine. Just a few pockets, right? Few soldiers, few Wardens, piece of cake. So what else have I missed?”

Cullen filled them in on his efforts with tracking down Samson’s base, tracking the red lyrium smugglers throughout Orlais. Both of the men listened intently as Kiyone brightened up, excitedly rambling about the new healing techniques she was learning from the mages. “I feel more useful now. The world needs healers more than it does more fighters, anyhow.” Yawning, she pushed her plate away and stood up, draping herself over the couch.

“Tired?”

“Everyone’s tired,” she sighed, smiling as Cullen sat next to her and wrapped his arms around her. “My brain is fried.”

Alistair took the empty spot next to her and lifted her feet into his lap. “No rest for the wicked.”

“I’m not the wicked one,” she protested with a gleam in her eye. “I think that title goes to you, ser guess what else I can do with my mouth.”

With the most innocent expression he could muster, he slowly pushed her skirts up, running his hands up her bare legs. “I’ve never heard you complain before.”

“I, ah, wasn’t,” her eyelids fluttered shut as Cullen palmed her breast through the velvet of her dress, pinching her nipples through the thick fabric.

“Should go slow tonight,” he murmured. “You know, since we’re all tired.”

“Anything you want,” Alistair smiled, crawling over his wife to capture the Commander’s lips in a sweet, tender kiss.

She could watch her two lovers like this for hours, days perhaps. Two strong, kind, dominant men, tangled up with each other, daring the other to be the one to submit. There was so much love here, watching a large, rough hand softly caress a stubbled cheek, calloused fingers running through wiry chest hair, it was intoxicating. “I would like to point out, I have yet to get my wish,” she said, her voice muffled from underneath Alistair’s abs.

“And what does my wife desire,” he replied in a gravelly voice.

“To watch.”

Two pairs of eyes slowly turned down to meet hers, then rose to gaze at each other. Cullen swallowed nervously. “Alistair, I-”

“Only if you want to,” he blurted out. “I, uh, know it’s been a long time and you might not even want to anymore and it’s okay if you-”

“I want to.”

“Oh. Well then.”

Lost in a trance, Alistair slowly pushed himself up to sitting and took Cullen’s extended hand, letting him draw him into the bedroom. “Both of you, strip. Kiyone, get on the bed on your back, if you will.” It was a heady sense of power that filled Cullen’s veins, watching them submit to his will, the pair of them eagerly obeying his commands. Staring as naked flesh slowly appeared, he pulled off his own shirt, tossing it into a dark corner. “Alistair, on top of her. Other way.” Kiyone groaned as her husband’s length pressed against her face, her lips automatically opening and searching for the tip, the familiar taste of his skin and musk enveloping her. His hips thrust deeper into her mouth as her tongue flicked over his slit, gasping as he felt her throat close around him. “Alistair,” Cullen croaked, settling behind him. “Get busy. You’re not allowed to come until she does. Three times.”

A low moan sent the sweetest vibrations up Alistair’s member, and with a whimper, he buried his face in Kiyone’s slick heat, licking and sucking with all the skill he could muster. The pop of the cork of the tiny vial of oil was deafening in the quiet room, breaking up the slurps and tiny cries that managed to escape the couple. Dribbling a liberal serving onto his fingers, Cullen gently began tracing little circles against the other man’s entrance, feeling him tense under his hands. Slowly, steadily, he pressed one finger inside.

Alistair’s head jerked back, gasping for air. “Cullen!”

“Relax,” he cooed. “That’s it, such a good boy.”

Below him, Kiyone groaned, digging her fingers into his thighs. “Fuuuuck, that’s hot.”

“Ki, up here, please,” Alistair gasped. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to come.” Shimmying out from underneath him, she slid up the bed, squealing as he grabbed her and shoved her up higher, immediately resuming his earlier task. His teeth scraped against her swollen bud, his hands firmly keeping her hips pinned against the bed.

He felt another finger breach him, spreading and stretching him, brushing against a spot inside of him that he had long forgotten about. “This is going to be perfect,” Cullen whispered hoarsely. “Maker’s breath, you should see yourself right now. So ready and willing for me. I can’t wait to feel you around me.” He smiled to himself as he watched Kiyone seize up, her fists clutching the sheets frantically as she came listening to his words. “You’re imagining it, aren’t you Ki? Your husband underneath me, screaming my name, my cock fucking him for all he’s worth, pumping him full of my seed?” Long fingers slid inside of her, giving her no respite from her first orgasm, torturing her through the remnants of her pleasure and forcing her over another crest. "That’s two,” he said in a wondrous tone. “I think you’re ready, Alistair.”

Alistair panted as he lifted his head up, resting his face against Kiyone’s thigh. Relaxing was a struggle he soon found as the tip of Cullen’s cock nudged his puckered hole, easing its way past the tight ring of muscles.

“Shhh, love,” she murmured softly, stroking his soft hair. “Let him in. You trust him, right? Let go.” Raising his eyes to her smiling face, he willed himself to relax, and with a sharp hiss, Cullen slid the rest of the way inside.

“Maker,” he panted. “You’re so fucking tight.” Alistair had no words left. Wriggling his hips, he tried to beg, plead, implore, anything, but all he could manage was a tiny whine. “Are you okay?” At least he could nod still. “I’m going to move now.” Haltingly at first, he pushed, searching for the right rhythm and pace. His amber black eyes locked onto Kiyone’s, staring at her as he fucked her husband with long, torturous strokes. “Do you want to be inside of her? She still needs to come one more time before you can, remember?”

Desperately, frantically, Alistair tugged her back down, the need for release overwhelming all reason. “Fuck, Cullen,” she cried as Alistair plunged inside of her, “You’ve made him so hard, I can’t… ahhh!”

Holding his hips still, Cullen wrapped a hand around the other man’s neck. “Stay still,” he ordered. “Let me.” Thrusting into Alistair, the momentum pushed him further into Kiyone. It was perfect. The room reeked of sex now, sweat pouring down all of their bodies, caught up in a neverending cycling of push and pull, skin sliding against skin, stretching, burning, oh the pleasure, the sweet, sweet promise of release just around the next edge.

“Ki,” Alistair finally gasped. “Come for me sweetheart. I won’t last much-” She didn’t need to hear anymore. With a shattered wail, she bucked up into his hips, both of their names on her lips as she felt her vision black out, walls pulsing around his steely length. “Cullen, can I…?”

“Yes,” he growled. “Now, Alistair.” Burying his face into his wife’s breasts, Alistair wailed as his orgasm finally overtook him, more powerful and intense than he had been expecting, feeling like he was drifting somewhere above his own body as Cullen’s own hot seed filled him from behind, dripping down between his ass cheeks.

“Maker,” he panted. “That was- that was-”

“Messy,” Kiyone giggled from above him. “Both of you.”

Cullen chuckled and, as gently as he could, eased himself out, gazing with complete satisfaction at the scene in front of him. “So much for slow and sweet tonight.”

“I thought it was sweet,” she offered, leaning over to grab a towel from the side table.

“Cuddle. Now.” Alistair imperiously held out his arms, sighing in bliss as they both immediately came to him, curling their sweaty bodies around his.

For several minutes, no one spoke, simply content to listen to each others’ heartbeats, slowly returning to a sedate pace, hurried breaths stretching out into long yawns. “Cullen,” Kiyone murmured as she ran her fingernails over his arm. “I talked to Evelyn earlier today.”

“Yeah?” He raised his eyes a bit to glance over at her. “And?”

“She’s lonely,” Kiyone bit her lip. 

Stiffening, he pulled back slightly. “Ki. What are you suggesting?”

“She wants you, you know that.” Holding up a hand to forestall his protests, she continued. “But I get that you don’t want to taint her, or whatever. Everyone else thinks the same thing. But she’s lonely, frustrated, and basically withering away without a lack of basic human compassion and touch. She needs someone.”

“You?” he muttered harshly. Sitting up, he pushed his damp curls away from his face.

“Maybe. I’m not sure if she even likes women like that. But if she’ll have me, then… yes. If you don’t want to be there for her, then I will. The woman is literally saving the world, Cullen. But underneath the Herald and the Inquisitor and all the fancy bullshit titles everyone’s piled on her, she’s a woman. A person. Someone who wants to be loved, and held, and made to feel like she matters. She. Not as the Inquisitor, but as Evelyn.”

He desperately shook his head and dug the heel of his palms into his eyes. “You- you know what I am. What I need. The things I do- I can’t ask that of her.”

“How do you know she wouldn’t enjoy it?” Kiyone sighed. “Maybe she’d enjoy being able to relinquish her control, to abandon her mantle of Inquisitor for a night. Anyways. Just think about what I said. I’m not going to do anything right now, unless you’re okay with it. As much as I feel for her, I love you and Alistair. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize what we have.”

“Just think on it,” Alistair gently tugged on his arm, pulling him back in close. “That’s all she’s asking.”

“And what do you think about this?” His voice was rough and bitter.

Alistair shrugged. “She has a point. She has ten times the responsibility that Hawke did, but he had Fenris to turn to at least. Who does Evelyn have?”

 _No one_ , Cullen realized. _I have these two, but she has… no one_. “I’ll think about it.”


	22. Chapter 22

It was all he could think about the next several days. True to her word, Kiyone didn’t broach the topic again, but she didn’t have to. Her words rang in his head almost every second that he was awake, images of the Inquisitor crying alone at night tormenting his dreams. Or worse, he would imagine her turning to someone else. Blackwall, the traitor. The Iron Bull, the Qunari Ben-Hassrath. Josephine? Sera? Solas? Snarling to himself, he threw down his quill, heedless of the ink spilling across the page.

He couldn’t picture her with anyone else without feeling like his heart was trapped in a vise. He could do it. Go to her, tell her how he felt, be with her. But then what? What would she say when she found out about Alistair and Kiyone? Picturing the disgust she would have on her face when he told her, he lowered his head to his desk with a groan. _Well, at least if she’s horrified by it, she won’t want me anymore, right? Then I can go along with my life, with Alistair and Ki._ No. It would break him, to have her turn away from him in anger and revulsion.

What made it worse was that he could tell now, how lonely and tired she actually was. The lingering, wistful glances she gave to the couples walking around Skyhold, yearning so obvious in her bright emerald eyes- it hurt. Her smiles didn’t quite go past her lips these days either. And not a soul called her by her first name, save Kiyone and Dorian. And how her face lit up when she did hear her name. He had been so selfish. They all had. She deserved so much more.

But how? The sheer chance of him falling in love with two people was already astronomical. What would be the chances of her accepting him for who he was, who he really was? Submitting to him in the way he craved? Kiyone, he realized with a start. She could find out. His door swung open at that exact moment, jerking him from his thoughts.

“Ki,” he said surprised. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Flatterer,” she grinned. “I’m bringing a request from the mages. We’ve been having a few, ah, accidents with a couple kids who recently came into their magic. Do you know of any templars who aren’t so…. templarish that could help out? Basically, I need a templar who was the opposite of you.”

He chuckled dryly. “The exact opposite of me, hmm? I believe I can find someone. Ser Marron, perhaps? He is a kind man, great with kids. Um, I had something to ask you, as well.”

Perking up, she bounced over to his desk and wiggled up onto the messy surface. “Oh? Do tell?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About the Inqui- Evelyn,” he corrected himself. “Would it- do you think- is there a way…”

“For me to find out if she’s open to the idea of you without mentioning you?” she teased.

“Well, yes,” he blushed.

“I’ll see what I can do, Commander. Tell Alistair if you see him not to wait up on me tonight,” winking, she dropped the templar requisition form onto his desk. “I’m sure you boys will have plenty to do without me, though.”

“We’ll keep each other busy,” he smiled. Blowing him a kiss, Kiyone skipped out of the office tower, rubbing her hands gleefully together.

 _Now, where would she be this time of day?_ The keep was fairly empty today, only the bare minimal number of nobles milling about the main hall, most having returned to their summer mansions to wait out the harsh Ferelden winter. Nodding pleasantly to one of the lords, she hurried up the stairs and searched around the library.

“There you are! Had a feeling I'd find you here.” Falling into the chair opposite the Herald, Kiyone smiled over at Evelyn. Setting her book down, she blinked owlishy at the other mage.

“Looking for me? Why? Who needs me?” Evelyn asked warily. She had just escaped the ramblings of one of the simpering ladies in the hall and had absolutely no desire to throw herself back into the wolves’ den again.

“I need you. Do you have any plans for tonight?” Evelyn shook her head. “How about a girls’ night then, just you and me? Get completely sloshed.”

“The Inquisitor cannot be seen getting sloshed,” she grimaced. “Sorry, Kiyone.”

“We stay in your room, then. Paint each other nails, do silly makeup, tell stories about boys, throw daggers at pictures of Samson, fling fireballs off the balcony. It’ll be fun.”

“That… actually does sound like fun,” she grinned excitedly. “After supper?”

“I’ll raid all of the good stuff I can find. Any preference?”

“None of Bull’s stuff ever again, Maker, that was horrible,” she shuddered with the memory.

“Of course. I'll see you after supper, Ev.”

*** 

Skyhold had quieted down, the residents settling down after the evening meal with their cards, ale, book, and quiet conversation. Strolling through sparse crowds, Kiyone made her way up into the main hall and up the dozens of stairs, huffing for breath by the time she reached the top.

“Holy hell,” she gasped as Evelyn answered the knock. “No wonder your ass look amazing. It would have to be, with all those fucking stairs you climb just to go to sleep.” Grinning at Evelyn’s blush, she unceremoniously tossed a leather satchel onto the bed, glass bottles clinking inside. “Got a bit of everything. Some new fruity wine Leliana mentioned, Antivan brandy Josephine insisted we try, some fresh mead we got a few days ago, Abyssal Peach, ooh that sounds good, where did I get that one, Golden Scythe 4:90 Black because it sounds fancy as shit, and Vint-9 Rowan’s Rose, because the label was pretty. Which one first?”

“Are we going to die tonight?” Evelyn stared at all the alcohol.

“Maybe!” Kiyone chirped. “If I sprout more than three heads, then you should probably stop drinking.”

“The Peach, I think.” Popping the cork, she poured two healthy glasses, passing one to the Inquisitor.

“Cheers. So. Leaving for the Emerald Graves soon, right?”

“Yes. And I’m taking Sera and Dorian and Bull, like you suggested,” she giggled. “Should be a fun trip, at the very least. Oh! Have you seen Ser Michel?”

“That pretty blonde man you brought back with you from the Emprise?”

“Yes! He really is pretty. I can’t decide if I like it or not. A few years ago, I would have been all over that, but now…”

“Now you want someone a little more rugged, with stubble and tousled blonde waves and deep amber eyes,” Kiyone suggested.

“Maker, what is wrong with me,” Evelyn groaned, finishing off her drink as Kiyone poured her another. “He’s already made it clear he doesn’t want me. I should just get over it. Move on. Sleep with someone else.”

“Mm," she tapped her chin with one finger. "Michel is cute. Too pretty for my tastes. Bet he’d make love all sweet and slow. Probably let you call all the shots. You like that kind of stuff?”

“I used to,” she shrugged. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t now.”

“Doesn’t the idea of a guy who takes control sound more fun? Someone strong, pinning you to the bed, ravaging your helpless body?” Kiyone grinned.

Evelyn was glad it was night and her room was dim. She could feel the heat emanating from her cheeks, burning with embarrassment. And… lust. “There’s not enough alcohol in my system yet for this conversation,” she groaned. Then, “Does Alistair do that?”

“That, and more. Ties me up, teases me. There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain,” Kiyone purred, “And he’s an expert at finding the balance.” The very idea had her aflame. Evelyn could almost picture it now, Cullen’s broad shoulders towering over her, teasing her without remorse. A strangled sound escaped her throat as she imagined his low, smooth voice saying her name. “Better idea than the sweet, pretty boy, isn’t it?”

Evelyn frowned at the now empty bottle of Abyssal Peach. “Fuck, empty already. Where’s the brandy?” Taking a long swig straight from the bottle, she coughed a few times at the burn, clutching her throat. “Shit. That’s really good. Um. Yeah. But we’ve already established Cullen doesn’t want me.”

Snorting, Kiyone shook her head. “Oh, he does. But he’s scared.”

“Scared? Of what?” Evelyn slurred.

Rolling the bottle against her thigh, Kiyone threw a shot back. “Let’s play a game. Truth or dare.”

“That’s a children’s game,” she laughed. “We used to play back in the circle. Alright, me first. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to… strip naked and go outside for thirty seconds.”

“It’s freezing out there!”

“That’s why it’s a dare!”

Grumbling to herself, Kiyone took off her clothes, throwing each item at Evelyn’s head. The glass door was freezing to the touch. Taking a deep breath, she shoved the balcony doors wide open and sprinted outside, hopping in place and muttering curses while Evelyn counted loudly from within.

As soon as she shouted thirty, Kiyone flew back inside and raced toward the hearth, moaning in pleasure as the heat seeped back into her frozen limbs. “Ahhhh, fuck you Herald. Truth or dare.”

Evelyn caught the look of revenge lurkng in her dark eyes and shrank back. “Truth,” she squeaked.

“Truth, hmm?” Suddenly, both women realized Kiyone was still naked, her nipples hard and straining in the chilly air. “Have you ever been with another woman?”

“I…” She nodded with a pretty blush staining her cheeks. “Back in the circle. Bunch of young women in the dormitories, we got bored. Uhhh, ok. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What’s up between Cullen and Alistair?” Silence. Kiyone frowned into the firelight, fidgeting with the fringe of the rug. “I’m sorry, it’s probably not my place to ask.”

“Ah, what the hell,” she sighed. “Same thing with you in the dorms, happened in the templar recruit barracks. They used to be… close. After Alistair was recruited into the Grey Wardens, they lost touch but once we arrived, they… rekindled their former relationship.”

“They’re together?” Evelyn gaped. Of all the things she had been imaging, this was not one of them. “And you don’t mind?”

“They love each other,” Kiyone replied softly. “How could I deny him?”

“So that’s it,” she groaned. “He’s gay. I should have known, all the good ones are. Dorian, him.”

“No, no, no, no, he’s not gay. He likes women very much. Like you.”

“And you?” Evelyn raised her head. “Have you and him…”

More silence. Another sigh. “You have to understand something first.”

“No,” she snapped bitterly, launching to her feet. “I understand fine. I thought you were my friend, but here you are, sleeping with the man I love behind my back the whole time! How many others knew? How many others were laughing at the Inquisitor while you fucked each other, huh?!”

“Dammit!” Kiyone shouted. “That’s not how it is, at all!”

“Like I’d believe you,” she scoffed. “Get out.”

“No,” growling, Kiyone tackled Evelyn to the bed, casting a spell to keep her frozen in place. “You are going to listen to what I have to say, and then you can decide. If you want, I’ll leave after that, but not until I say everything.” Pressing her lips together, the frozen Herald just stared up at the naked woman. “It started out as just fun. Sex, a way to relieve stress. Alistair told me he missed Cullen, and wanted to invite him to join us. This was when we first came here.”

“That long?!”

“Hush. Alistair wanted to watch. And Cullen was stressed, dealing with withdrawals, we figured it’d help him. He was so hopelessly in love with you, that he couldn’t imagine being with anyone else, but Alistair convinced him. It was just physical, a few times here and there. And then… everyone sort of… fell in love,” Kiyone mumbled, wincing at the Inquisitor’s wide eyes. “No one meant for it to happen, of course. But it did.”

“All… three of you?”

“Yes. But even though Cullen loves both of us, he still wants you. He’s just afraid of what you’ll think of him. He’s- he is a man who craves control, Evelyn. It can be frightening to let go, but it’s what he needs. He’s afraid you won’t understand that.”

“I don’t understand. He wants to be with me… and you both?” She shook her head. “That’s crazy.”

“If you want to take a chance on him, Alistair and I will bow out,” she whispered. “If that is what he and you truly want.”

“And my other option is to be in some kind of relationship with the three of you?”

“It could be fun,” she shrugged. “Ever been with two men at once? Especially two men like Alistair and Cullen?”

“You would let your husband fuck me,” she said flatly.

“I swear, you sound like Cullen when Alistair first approached him. I would, gladly,” Kiyone smirked. “His pleasure is mine as well. You’re a beautiful woman, Evelyn. Anyone would have to be a blind fool to not want you, and I am anything but.” Releasing the spell that kept her bound, she cocked her head curiously when Evelyn made no move to get up.

“Would- would you…?”

“Would I fuck you?” she whispered, tracing a hand over the curve of her waist, the sensation muffled by her thick robes. “If you let me. It’s been a long time since I was with a woman, but I haven’t met any other I wanted like you. You are utterly… entrancing.” Leaning over, she stopped a hairsbreadth away from her lips, so close she could taste the spicy brandy on her breath. “But it’s up to you.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Evelyn admitted. “And I’m drunk. And you’re still naked.”

“That I am,” she replied cheerfully. “You wanted me to leave right? I’ll just-”

“No, stay,” she blurted. “Ah, just, put on some clothes? You’re rather distracting.”

“Ooh, am I?” Giggling, she stumbled around the vast room, pulling on various bits of clothing from where she had thrown them earlier. “Another drink?”

“Yes, sweet Andraste. All of them, please.”

*** 

Everything was pain. She was dead, she knew it. Maybe a giant had finally gotten her. Or a dragon. Or a herd of bronto. With a raspy groan, Evelyn slowly opened her eyes, wincing in pain at the bright sunlight. A light snore echoed just to her left. Flipping the covers back, the conversation of last night came rushing back as she stared at Kiyone’s sleeping form.

 _She’s been sleeping with Cullen. Who’s been sleeping with her and Alistair. They’re all in love. Cullen still wants me. She wants me. I just went from no one wanting me to an entire orgy just waiting to happen. Oh, fuck my life._ What should she do? On one hand, the idea of sex with Kiyone was very appealing. As was Alistair, and Cullen. But separately. The notion of all of them together was… overwhelming. Kiyone did say that if she wanted, she and Alistair would back off. It could just be her and Cullen. Could she do that though? If they all really loved each other like she said? No, she couldn’t do that. She could never be that cruel to him.

And then there was that other thing. How Cullen wanted control. What all did that entail? Was it dangerous? Would she even like it? What if she hated it? Although, she was pretty sure that man could do literally anything to her as long as he was naked and she would not give one damn. Maybe… she should get Kiyone to explain that more.

“Ki,” she shook the other woman. “I need to talk to you.”

“Can you talk quieter? I think there’s a dragon dancing in my skull,” came the pitiful whimper.

“Your fault. When you said about Cullen needing control, what did you mean?” A dark eye peeked out from the mass of tangled black hair that covered the pillow.

“Needs you to submit. Obey his desires. Requires pain for pleasure.”

“Like… ropes and whips and stuff? Does he really needs all that? Can’t he just, I don’t know, suppress it?” She couldn’t imagine how any of that was pleasurable in the slightest.

“Do you really understand what you’re asking?” Sighing, Kiyone rolled over and pinned Evelyn with a serious stare. “He’s had to hide who he is, what he really wants for years. Burdened by the shame of thinking what he wanted was wrong and sinful. Now, he’s free and able to truly be himself and be accepted for it. Ask him to take away that part of him? You’d kill his spirit, just as surely as if you asked him to go back on lyrium.”

“I… didn’t think about it like that.”

Flopping back down, she yawned. “I know. It’s all new to you. But if you’re serious about wanting to know, Alistair could show you. He would have more control and patience than Cullen would at this point,” she snorted. “Cullen would just haul you off like a barbarian and claim you. Also, Alistair isn’t as… intense. Good of a place to start as any.”

Taking a deep breath, Evelyn stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this. This is insane. You literally just offered your husband to me.”

“You have ancient elven magic literally embedded into your skin and you’re fighting a centuries old undead magister who is one of the original darkspawn who commands an undead dragon. You really need to reevaluate your definition of insane,” Kiyone muttered dryly. “Your choice, love.”

 _What do I have to lose?_ “I… I think I want to try.”

Lifting up her head, Kiyone gave her a sleepy smile. “Alistair will come to you tonight and explain everything, okay?”

Nodding, she found she couldn’t say anything else. More than anything, she was terrified. And yet desperate. _Isn’t that why I’m agreeing to this in the first place?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally pick my alcohol based on the label. If it has a picture of a penguin or duck on it, there is a 95% I'll buy it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for fully consensual flogging up ahead. I don't know why I feel the need to TW this, given the extensive list of tags but I do lol.

There were more than a few nudges and grins as the Inquisitor slowly descended the stairs into the main hall late that morning, Kiyone just behind her, both women wincing at the level of noise and light streaming into the vast chamber.

“Somebody’s been drinking,” Alistair elbowed Cullen. 

“They look like shite,” Sera giggled. “Hey, anyone think they did it?”

“That is the Inquisitor you are referring to,” Solas frowned. “Show some respect.”

“Nah,” the Iron Bull chuckled. “They’d both be much happier if they had.”

“Aww.” Pouting, Sera slumped back into her chair. “Girl can dream, can’t I?”

“Good morning, darling. Care for some lunch? I would offer you breakfast, but you know, almost noon and all,” bending at the waist, Alistair offered the ladies a flourished bow.

Evelyn glared at the Warden. “Is he always this chipper? Can I stab him?”

“Be my guest,” Kiyone mumbled. A glass of water appeared just inside of her range of vision, and with a grateful groan, she snatched it up, greedily downing the whole thing. Cullen chuckled and refilled the glass, passing another one to Evelyn.

“Long night?”

“You have no idea.” Evelyn studiously refused to meet either man’s face, opting to keep her eyes focused on her water. “Ah, I’m gonna run and do… stuff. I’ll see you later.”

“That wasn’t encouraging,” Alistair frowned as he watched the Inquisitor scamper off. “Did it go okay?”

“Somewhat. Probably should talk. And if either of you yells, I will throw you off the battlements.” Silently, Cullen led them both to his office, turning over the thousands of possibilities in his head. _She is probably disgusted and embarrassed. Maker, she wouldn’t even look at me. She probably thinks I’m a deviant, a lecher of the highest order._ “Cullen, shut up. I can hear you think, remember? It’s not what you think.”

Blushing, he held the door open for them and locked the rest, ensuring their privacy. “So? What did happen?”

“Besides you both trying to pickle your livers,” Alistair added wryly.

“I told her about, well, everything.” Wincing, she prepared herself for an explosion, bracing against the shouts and anger she knew were coming. It never did. Opening her eyes, all she saw was Alistair worriedly looking at Cullen, who was decidedly a lot paler than he had been a few moments earlier. “And uh, she’s curious. About the control thing. She’s never done anything like that before, so I may have… offeredAlistair’sservicestoher,” the rest of the words tumbled out in a blind, hurried jumble. Her husband merely raised an eyebrow at that, slowly nodding, while Cullen’s waxy pallor tinged with red.

“He-”

“Cullen, think about it,” she gently laid a hand on his bracer. “How controlled do you think you could be your first time with her? She’s scared, but she wants to try. For you. Alistair can ease her in, talk her through it. Then, if she enjoys it, you can have at her.”

“Have at her,” he snorted suddenly. “What am I, a dog?”

“More like a lion,” she grinned. “So, tonight, love? If you want to.”

“I don’t mind,” Alistair said. “Long as Cullen’s okay with it.”

“I…” Groaning, he leaned back against his desk. “It makes sense. Maker, I have to spend the entire night knowing you’re in there with her and ugghhh,” he threw his head back, staring at the wooden floor of his loft above.

“I could distract you, lover,” Kiyone walked over to him and, rising up to her tip toes, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Tonight would be,” he licked his lips nervously, “Particularly rough, Ki.”

“Whatever you need. I told you that, didn’t I?” Wrapping her in a tight hug, he nodded against her hair.

“Well, I’ve got to get out to the field. So just anytime after supper, right?” Alistair moved in closer to them, kissing them both in turn.

“Yeah. I’ve got to go, too. See you later, Cullen.”

Offering them a half hearted wave, he watched them both leave his office, the sudden silence ringing in his ears. _Well, whatever the verdict is, I’ll have my answer tomorrow morning. No matter what, at least I have these two. Maker, what would I do without them?_

*** 

It was a freshly bathed Kiyone that crept into his office a few hours past supper that night. Cullen smiled to himself, convinced there was no cleaner person in all of Thedas than she, given her near obsession with washing. She was wearing one of Alistair’s old tunics, the open neckline slipping off to expose one smooth shoulder, a pair of wide leg loose breeches on her legs. “You look comfortable.” 

Glancing down, she shrugged, her lips twitching up slightly. “I look like a beggar on the streets, I know. But yes, I am quite comfortable. Are you finished for the night?”

“Almost,” he drew her in close, breathing deeply of the scent of oranges and vanilla from her soap. “Smell good,” he mumbled into her neck. “Wait upstairs for me? There’s a present for you on the bed.”

Tingling with anticipation, she immediately ran across the room and tossed him a wink as she clambered up the wooden ladder. Maybe he should have waited to give it her, he mused. He rather wanted to see her face when she opened it. 

Signing off on the last few requisitions, Cullen neatly stacked all his remaining reports and arranged his quills, leaving his desk in the orderly state he preferred before climbing upstairs. Kiyone barely glanced up from where she sat on the bed, already naked, holding his present in her hand.

“What do you think?”

Slowly, she raised the cat ‘o nine tails whip, running the soft leather strands through her fingers, caressing the braided hilt. “It’s lovely,” she murmured, her voice already husky. “Just for me?”

“Only the best,” he assured her, draping his shirt over a chair. “Ki, about tonight. I need…”

Standing up, she crossed the wooden floor, tapping the leather handle against his lips. “I have my safe word, Cullen. I’ll be okay. You know I trust you.” She always had to reassure him before nights like these, her sweet gentleman, always worried about her and his own self-control. 

“If I cut you-”

“A little blood never killed anyone,” she giggled. “If it’s too much, I’ll let you know. Now,” stepping closer to him, she purred, running her fingers against his broad chest. “What did you want to do to me?”

“Hands up,” he muttered. Obediently, she held her hands above her head, waiting patiently as he tied her wrists securely together with the silk rope he ordered especially for her. Looping it over a hook set into the stone wall that he had placed there just that afternoon, he moved back, admiring her bound form wiggling against the dark wall, her weight resting on the balls of her feet. “You are a vision,” he sighed happily, hefting the whip in one hand.

Reverently, he stroked her skin with the leather strands, watching the goosebumps on her skin rise at the light touch, her nipples pebbling in the cool night air. Nudging apart her thighs, he hummed with approval at the sight of her already wet folds. The crack of the whip startled her more than the sharp sting of the strands against her back, Kiyone shrieking at the sudden sensation.

“Noisy,” he chided, searching for a spare piece of fabric to stuff in her mouth. “In lieu of your safe word, stomp your foot three times against my leg or the wall if you want me to stop, okay?” She nodded. “After all, can’t have everyone knowing I’m fucking Theirin’s wife now, can we? As much as I’d like for them all to know. I would take you in the middle of the courtyard, if I could.” Another snap of the whip. “You’d like that though, wouldn’t you? You’d let me fuck you in view of the entirety of Skyhold.” She moaned at the thought of it and at his rough voice, back arching as another sweet wave of pain flowed through her body. “And everyone would know how much you crave the Commander, his touch, his cock, filling you completely.” Tears sprung to her eyes as he whipped her again, the last time drawing a thin line of blood. “Ki, I-” She shook her head violently, her lusty cries muffled by the shirt in her mouth, grinding her hips against the air.

Hesitantly, he reached out, stroking between her legs. “Maker, you are sopping,” he hissed. “Alright sweetheart, here’s what we’re going to do.” Idly stroking her cunt with the rough handle, he slowly plunged it inside of her, the torturously slow place doing nothing to soothe the fire in her belly and on her skin. Twisting it once, twice, inside of her, he abandoned the whip inside of her, crossing his room to rustle around in his trunk. His eyes were wild and dark as he approached her again, rolling something around in his hand. Her eyes widened as she saw it.

“You will keep this inside of you,” he murmured into her ear, nibbling the sensitive flesh. “I will whip you ten times. If you drop it, I will start over. If you wish for me to stop, stomp thrice. Understood?” She nodded. “Please me, and I will let you come. Disobey, and I will leave you tied up like this all night, left on the edge, always wanting.” Her thighs trembled at the intensity in his voice. “I have confidence in you, Ki,” he chuckled darkly. “Now.”

Sliding the handle out, he smirked as he popped the hilt into his mouth for safekeeping, tasting her juices coating the leather. Gently, he eased the heavy stone dildo he held inside of her, his heart pounding as her body accepted it all, walls clenching tightly around the weight. “There’s a good girl,” he sighed. “Ten strokes.” Yanking out the shirt from her mouth, he leaned in close to her. “Count them. Out loud. And no screaming, understood?”

“Yes, Commander,” she whispered.

“Ready?” The first blow landed across her ass, the flesh jiggling enticingly as red lines raised instantly.

“One.” Her voice was steady, almost calm. He was oddly proud of her.

The next crack crossed just under her rear, over the crease where her lovely ass ended and her muscled thighs began. “Two.” 

Turning her around, he swiped the leather across her breasts, the hit slightly softer than the last two. “Three,” she whimpered. Over and over, he crisscrossed her skin with dozens of little welts, tiny droplets of blood beading here and there, her cunt desperately clenching around the foreign object that was threatening to slip out of her.

“One more, love,” he panted. Had he ever been this turned on, this hard in his life? It was hard to remember. It was hard to do anything, save panting for breath and staring at her.

His last blow landed directly against her clit, scar smirking as every muscle in her body tensed in a silent scream, yet the only sound that left her mouth was a raspy, “Ten.” Instantly, the stone dildo clattered to the ground, glistening in the soft candlelight.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured. “I think you’ve earned this.” Dropping to his knees, he pressed her back against the walls, Kiyone whimpering at the pain of the rough stone against her tender back. His mouth moved softly, achingly sweet over her core, dipping his fingers inside of her, curling and teasing at that spot inside of her, his tongue flicking over her swollen pearl.

“May I come?” She gasped, writhing against his grip.

“Do it,” he ordered. Within seconds, he felt her spasming around his lips and fingers, still no scream breaking free of her will, just soft pants and tiniest wail. Cullen stood up as the last of her tremors faded and lifted up on her legs to wrap it around his waist, and, with one thrust, slid all the way inside of her. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he groaned, leaning his cheek against her forehead. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes, ah, Commander,” her wrists strained at her bindings, body undulating under his, desperately seeking more friction. He was feeling generous, but that not generous yet. Drawing out his strokes, he lazily fucked her against the wall, determined to savor each of these new memories as they made them. The sight of the leather drawing across her skin. The way she stretched around him. The sounds she made as she begged for more. The marks the ropes were leaving on her wrists. Her dark eyes, wide with lust as she stared in wonder at him. No, not just wonder. Love. “What are you thinking about?” Kiyone smiled up at him.

“You,” he muttered huskily. “How perfect you are.” His hands rand along the sides of her faint curves, pausing briefly to fondle the silky undersides of her breasts. “And I’m wondering what Alistair and Evelyn are getting up to now.”

“Mmm,” her eyes drifted shut, losing herself in the feel of his cock, thick and hard deep inside of her. “I bet she makes the prettiest moans. So prim and proper, but I bet she’s loving everything he’s doing to her. Her wrists bound like mine, maybe blindfolded as well, obeying Alistair’s every command. I bet she tastes so sweet,” she whispered.

“Ki,” Cullen groaned at the thought. “You’re playing a dangerous game, love.”

“Maybe she’s sitting on her knees, his hands in her hair, him fucking her mouth like you like to do to me. Do you think he’s teasing her ass too? No, probably not tonight. Maybe she’ll let you be the one to take her there first. Or me.”

“Ki,” he growled, shoving harder against her. “One last warning.”

A tiny smile played at the corners of her lips. And instantly he knew where this was going to end. “Were you even paying attention to me tonight? Or were you only thinking of her in my place, begging you for more as you whipped me? Of her pussy clenched tight around you, obeying your every deepest, darkest desire? Tell me love, what do you want? Do you want to watch her and I? Our tongues bringing each other mutual pleasure while you and Alistair watched? Do you want to see her skin red and ravaged like mine?”

Snarling, Cullen grabbed her hips and shoved her up the wall, ignoring her cries as her welts scraped against the harsh stone. Snapping back, he plunged as far as he could within her heat, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, her nails scraping down his scarred back. “All of it,” he breathed. “Maker, I want it all. But right now, I want you to come hard for me.”

“Yes,” she cried. “Cullen, oh Cullen!” Her mouth opened in a perfect O, her eyes wide and huge as she brought her hands up and clutched his face, tugging him closer for a longing kiss. “I- I-” whimpering, her entire body seized up, spine arching in a perfect, taut crescent, the new angle beyond perfect. His hips jerked as her walls clamped down around him, wrenching a low, guttural moan from his throat as he came for what felt like hours, the stream of his seed relentless.

“Fuck,” he sighed into her hair. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm,” she smiled sleepily up at him.

“Good,” he nuzzled her face, kissing the trails of dried tears on her cheeks. “Let’s get you down.” Pulling at the rope, he swiftly untied her and carried her limp body on his own shaky legs to his bed, gently tucking her in. With a satisfied grin on his face, he rummaged through his trunk for a minute, then returned to her with a jar of cream and a damp towel. The next several minutes were spent in silence, Cullen dutifully kissing each of her wounds, washing away the blood and dirt, and rubbing ointment all over her skin. “You look like a wreck.”

Kiyone snorted. “Who’s fault is that?”

“Mine,” he replied happily. “Ki… I love you. I actually wasn’t thinking of Evelyn earlier. Just you. And how amazing you are.”

Turning her head, she reached out a hand for his, and squeezed. “I love you too, Cullen.”

“Stay?” he whispered, crawling under the sheets next to her. “For a little while, at least?”

“Long as you want.”

***

In the quiet hours before dawn he woke her up again, his mouth hot against her neck, his hands insistent on her body. “Are you sore?”

“Yes,” she snuggled up against him firmly. “But don’t stop.”

He took her slowly this time, tenderly, like lovers were wont to do, his hips grinding against her rear, her back pressed to his chest, his fingers circling her nub. Raising her arms, Kiyone reached back and tangled her fingers in his curls, keeping him as close as possible to her. He wanted this, craved this. What happened if Evelyn decided she didn’t want a part of his desires? Or what if she decided she did, but she didn’t want to be involved with all of them? He would have to choose. Choose between the woman he had been pining over, who was good and true in every way possible. The man who was his first love, who reminded him of what friendship and family meant. And Kiyone, who sated the demons inside of him like no one else could, giving him blessed peace. It would be impossible.

Breath quickening, Cullen clutched her tighter and flipped them over, pressing her face down into the mattress. Keeping her legs together, he hissed at the added friction, slowly dragging his length out of her. “That’s so good,” she moaned.

Hauling her ass up into the air, he began thrusting in earnest, her sweet cries spurring him on, the red lines decorating her back bringing his blood to the surface. Reaching for her clit, he pressed in time with his strokes, feeling immensely pleased as she came almost instantaneously, his own orgasm following her over the edge just a few seconds later. Dropping next to her, he pushed back a sweaty lock of hair.

“How do you feel this morning?”

“Sore. Used. Dirty. Utterly depraved,” she giggled. “You?”

“Quiet,” he murmured. His amber eyes lightened by a considerable degree as he smiled at her. “Thanks to you.”

“Anytime,” she pulled him in for a lingering kiss, soft sighs escaping her as their tongues swiped over each other, tender and adoring, his hands cupping her face as if she were the most precious thing in his world. “I should probably get going before daylight breaks. See you later, lover.”

“Later,” he promised, letting her fingertips slid out of his. Cullen leaned back, eyes bright as he watched as she dressed in the fading starlight, smiling as she blew a kiss just before she disappeared from sight. Palming his softening member, he relished in the delicious ache suffusing his body, rewinding the night before in his mind, thinking about what had led up to his brutal domination. _Just a few more hours._ And then, he would know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be sporadic over the next week. Happy Holidays/Festivus for those who celebrate, and have an amazing weekend for those who don't! And thank you, as always, for reading :*


	24. Chapter 24

_The night before_

Evelyn paced the length of her room until she was sure there would probably be a path worn into her rug forever. _This is crazy. What am I doing? I can’t believe I’m doing this. No, I can’t. As soon as he gets here, I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind. And that he should be ashamed of himself. And so should his wife, and Cullen._ But this was her chance to find out what Cullen was hiding from her. What he needed. And besides, Kiyone said Alistair would just explain things to her. No reason to think she would have to get naked. Or that he would get naked. Not that she would mind too much. The Warden did have a nice physique, she mused. And he was cute. _No, stop that. Okay. I’ll let him explain. And then kick him out._

The knock at the door seemed to echo throughout the entire keep. Wincing at the brash sound, Evelyn cleared her throat and straightened her spine. “Come in,” she yelped. _Oh, way to go, mighty Inquisitor._

A familiar strawberry blonde head poked in, his blue eyes crinkling at the sight of her. “Hello, Inquisitor. I was told you would be expecting me?”

“I was,” she nodded as imperiously as she could muster. “Please, come in.” Pushing the door all the way open, Alistair lightly jogged up the stairs, wearing a loose white tunic, the neckline slightly gaping at the top to give the tiniest peek of dark copper chest hair and firm muscle, with a leather satchel thrown over one shoulder. Glancing around the room, he whistled. _Sweet Andraste, he really is attractive._

“Nice place you’ve got.”

Hoping that he couldn’t tell where her mind was from the state of her blush, she squeaked, “Thanks. Um. So, Kiyone said you would explain things? Andraste forgive me, but I don’t know what the hell I’m even doing,” groaning, she sank into a chair, hiding her face from him in her palms.

“Hey,” he dropped down to the plush carpet beside her. “No pressure. If you want me to go, I’ll go and we can pretend like this never happened. Or I can just explain things to you. Or show you, if you'd like. It’s entirely your call.”

“Right.” Raising her head, she gave him a shaky nod. “So, Cullen. Basically, I just want to understand him a bit more. And why he likes the things he does.”

Frowning, Alistair sat back against the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him. “How much do you know about his past?”

“I know he was a templar at Kinloch Hold during the Blight, when it was overrun by blood mages,” she whispered. “And at Kirkwall, when the chantry there exploded.”

“Kinloch,” he muttered darkly. “I was there. With the Hero when we liberated the circle. I found Cullen, trapped behind some sort of barrier. He had been kept there, tortured for Maker knows how long, plagued by demons. It fueled his hate and fear, two traits that Meredith, his Knight-Commander at the Gallows, eagerly fed. He followed her orders without hesitation. Only standing up to her at the very end. Do you see a common thread here?” Hesitantly, she shook her head. “Control. He lost it to the blood mages and the demons, was forced to serve at their every whim and mercy. And he willingly gave up his own trust and will to Meredith, who in turn abused it. So now, he needs to be in control at all times. He cannot submit again. The trauma that lays down that path, well. It wouldn’t be pretty. And that, Inquisitor, is my best guess.”

“Your best guess?” She blinked in surprise at him. “You mean you don’t know for sure?”

“Never asked him,” Alistair shrugged. “Why would I?”

“Because it- he-” to be honest, she wasn’t sure.

“He’s my best friend, and I love him,” he informed her seriously. “I’ve seen the darkness inside of him, and it changes nothing about how I feel for him, not one bit. It doesn’t matter to me why he’s the way he is, only that he is now. So I accept it. The question is, can you?”

Could she? Cullen had mentioned Kinloch briefly to her, but all that he had endured- she had no idea. Neither did Alistair. No one did, except Cullen, and he kept that pain locked up tightly inside of him. No wonder he needed an outlet.

“So, what’s in the bag,” she motioned to the sack laying behind him.

“Few odds and ends, in case you were curious,” he grinned. “Are you curious?”

She should say no, but that would be a lie. The familiar pool of heat in her belly that always simmered around Cullen was rearing its head now, with Alistair’s sky blue eyes darkening at her expression, Evelyn nervously licking her lips. “Can you show me what it is?”

He reached for the satchel, and unceremoniously dumped all the contents on the floor. “Rope. Soft, but strong, made from silk.” She took the black cord and gently turned it over in her hand, watching as his eyes narrowed at the sight. “Blindfold. Sensory deprivation, makes your other senses sharper. Ah, this is for your, um. Bottom,” he blushed furiously, poking a triangle shaped piece of polished wood with a stubby handle at the broad end.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “Does that- do you-”

“I use it on Kiyone. She enjoys being filled,” Alistair muttered, his ears now a bright red. It was almost comical, how he could go from being so smooth and confident, to a stumbling chantry boy in two seconds. “And oil. For... stuff. Anyways, that’s the basics. Cullen has a wider array of things, but I figured we’d save those for later. Most nights we don’t even use any of this. So… what do you think?” He raised his pink gaze to her face.

Curiosity was slowly winning over. Hesitantly, she picked up the blindfold, and then the wooden plug, only glancing up when she heard his sharp intake of breath. Taking a deep breath, she smiled at him. “Show me?”

“We’ll take it slow,” he murmured, pulling her to her feet. “No safe word yet, you won’t need it. If you want me to stop at any time, just tell me and I will, okay?” Swallowing hard, she nodded. “Good girl,” he grinned down at her. “Now, you’re going to listen to everything I say. Unless you don’t want to, of course, in which case you’ll tell me.” She giggled. “Er, right. Maker, I feel like an idiot. Anyways,” he scratched his head. “Right. Off with your clothes.”

Nervously, she backed away from him and began carefully removing her blouse, draping it over a chair before shimmying out of her leggings and standing awkwardly in front of him in her smalls. Leaning against the railing in her room, he raised one eyebrow. 

“All of it, Evelyn.” She changed her mind. He wasn’t just cute. He was downright sexy as hell. Blushing, she untied the strings that laced her breasts together and slid her bottoms off. Tugging his own shirt off, he stalked closer to her, a predatory gleam in his eye. Evelyn was the antithesis of Kiyone, with pale, almost unmarred skin compared to his wife’s tanned, scarred expanse. Breasts were smaller, but perkier, his large hands covering them perfectly. And her legs. Kiyone’s legs were thick and muscular, firm around his back, but Evelyn? Her legs went on for days, the flesh still soft from the years spent at the Circle, with just a hint of muscle forming underneath, the last vestiges from her previous life. “No,” he tugged her arms down to her side. “Don’t hide from me. Maker, you are beautiful. On the bed.”

Stumbling backwards, she crawled backwards up the mattress, sitting wide eyed near the headboard as he grabbed the black length of silk and approached her. He slid onto the bed next to her, and ducked his head close to her ear. “Arms up.” Obediently, she raised them above her head and watched as he expertly tied them together, loose enough so she could move them, but tight enough so she couldn’t escape. Fastening it to the furniture, he smiled down at her. “Do you want the blindfold as well?”

“Yes, please,” she whispered.

Alistair squeezed his eyes shut. “I think you’ll do quite nicely,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. “Remember, if it’s too much, just tell me.”

“Alright.” Her room faded away as he gently slipped the soft fabric over her eyes, fingers parting her dark tresses to securely fasten the ties.

She was a magnificent creature, he smiled to himself. Especially like this, bound and waiting. Settling himself between her legs, he shoved them apart, feeling her thighs try to fight him. “Relax,” he kissed the inside of one knee. “If you can.”

“If I can,” she snorted. “Right.” Delicately, he peppered her skin with his lips, nipping at the soft flesh of her thighs, skipping over her center to taste the skin of her hips, her stomach, her breasts. Trailing one hand over her throat, he sucked one nipple into his mouth, and bit down, just hard enough to make her gasp.

“Pleasure and pain,” he murmured huskily. “There’s a fine line between them. The sharp burn, the sweet ache, all building inside of you until all you feel is desire and lust.” Rolling the other nipple between his fingers, he ground his still clothed erection against her throbbing heat, feeling her wetness stain his pants.

“Please,” she gasped, rolling her hips against his.

“Patience. I’ll get you there.” Lightly, he massaged her throat and leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Breathplay. Erotic asphyxiation is the proper term for it, I believe. Restricting airflow in order to achieve a more intense orgasm. You should see Kiyone when she comes like this, my hand around her throat. How much she writhes in pleasure.”

“And you-” she licked her lips. “You like it too?”

“I do.” He stared down at his hand, dark against her alabaster skin. “She puts all of her trust in me. Literally gives me her life into my hands. There is nothing more powerful or sexy than that.”

“But to give up so much control…”

“She doesn’t,” he traced the line of her ear with his tongue, gratification spreading through him at her low moan. “She’s actually the one with all the control, and both Cullen and I know it. She just allows us to take care of it, and her. With a single word, she could stop us at any time.”

“Has she ever?” Alistair moved back down her body, his fingers now stroking her pink folds, swirling her arousal on her skin with a single finger.

“No. She’s usually begging for more,” he chuckled, “Although she did come close one time, a few years ago. I held her on the edge of her orgasm for hours. Until she was broken, sobbing, cursing my name. But oh, when I finally gave her release. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Will you do that to me?” He could feel himself straining to keep his control at the lust in her voice.

“I’ll give you a taste,” he growled. “Starting now.” Sliding one finger inside of her, he hissed, her hips bucking off the bed as her arms tugged at the ropes. “Maker, you’re so tight. I bet you would feel amazing around my cock.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Please!”

Alistair ignored her, concentrating on his hand. Easing another finger inside, he pumped them gently, using his thumb to rub soft circles against her nub. In almost no time, he could feel her clenching around his hand, her breaths getting shorter and sharper. He withdrew himself from her. Groaning in frustration, Evelyn yanked at the bonds holding her in place. “Something the matter, Inquisitor?”

“No,” she sighed. “Yes. I don’t know. You did this to her for hours?”

“I did,” he replied happily. “Maybe one day, we could do it to you.”

“I think I would die,” she grumbled. And then shrieked, as she felt warm lips close in over her bud, a velvet tongue licking up and down her seam. “W-what are you doing?”

“Has no one ever tasted you like this? Shame. You taste amazing,” he moaned, burying his face against her. Delving his tongue as deep inside of her as he could manage, he eagerly slurped up the sweet liquid that was now pouring forth from her, flicking his tongue expertly trying to find all the places that made her keen. It was with the greatest effort that he dragged himself away when he felt her nearing her end, his only desire to feel her come around his tongue, to drink her up.

“Alistair,” she wailed, “Please!”

“Believe me, I didn’t want to stop.” Moving back over her, he ducked his head down close enough to where she could smell herself on his face. “Would you like to see how delicious you taste?”

“That’s so dirty,” she giggled.

He raised an eyebrow, fully aware that she couldn’t see him. “Is that a no?”

“No, it wasn’t.” His lips captured hers almost immediately, and Evelyn moaned at the feel of him, her juices on his tongue, his mouth hot on hers, his naked chest pressed on her breasts, and his erection, still frustratingly covered, rubbing against her mound. “Are you going to-”

“Am I going to what?”

“Take your pants off,” she blushed.

“Would you like me to?” Nodding, she felt him move off the bed, the sound of leather and metal hitting the floor sending a delicious shiver of anticipation through her body. He took her hand as he crawled back onto the mattress, and wrapped it around his shaft.

“Maker, Alistair, is this real?” Laughing, he pulled her blindfold off.

“I certainly hope so,” he teased. Her emerald eyes were huge as she took him in.

“You’re huge.” Blushing, he nonchalantly shrugged and glanced down.

“We don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“No!” she shook her head vehemently. “I want to.” Releasing a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, Alistair smiled encouragingly up at her.

“Good. But first, I want more.” And he dove back between her legs, his hands pinning her hips down as he devoured her, giving her no quarter, his tongue mimicking what she wanted other parts of him to do, swiping over every inch of her skin, nibbling on her swollen, sensitive clit. Then, he fastened his lips over her pearl. And sucked. _Hard._ Evelyn screamed, her body flinging off the bed, the candles in the room suddenly burning higher. Wiping his mouth, he slid up her body.

“Shit,” she panted. “That-” Something large and smooth and slick poked at her entrance.

“Is this okay?” he whispered hoarsely. Not trusting her voice, Evelyn nodded. Inch by inch, he slowly slid in, both of them panting as Alistair struggled to give her time to adjust, and she forced herself to relax and let her body stretch. “Talk to me, Ev.”

“It… hurts,” she whimpered slightly. “But in a good way, I don’t want you to stop.”

“More?” he asked.

“More,” she sighed. Hoping he wouldn’t regret this, Alistair pulled her closer, and thrust completely in, hilting himself deep inside of her as she cried out, her arms pulling the rope tight enough to where he wondered if it would snap.

“Sorry! I just thought maybe this would be better and if it’s too much I could-”

“Alistair. Shut up and move,” she groaned, jerking her hips up to meet his. Sighing in relief, he willingly began to obey, thrusting in and out of her in long strokes, dragging his pelvis against her nub, angling himself to find that sweet spot inside of her. “Fuck!” He found it. Grunting, he sped up his movements, watching in fascination as her body jiggled with each powerful shove, her beautiful legs drawing him in closer. Maker, but she was tight, and so wet, dripping around his cock. He wanted this to never end. Cullen would be a lucky, lucky man.

“I’m going to-” Throwing her head back, Evelyn released a sharp cry as her pleasure finally swept over her, little jolts of electricity racing down her sweaty, sensitive skin, leaping over to him, freezing him in place. Gritting his teeth against the sharp sensation, he grabbed the base of his cock and forced himself to hold back until the last of her spasms had subsided, before pulling out and finishing on her soft belly, groaning as he emptied himself in pearlescent ropes draped across her skin.

“I, uh, forgot to ask if you were on witherstalk,” he said sheepishly by way of explanation. “Figured this was safest.”

“I started the other day,” she blushed. “But it’s better you did, since it takes a few days to start being effective.” Nodding, he reached up over her head and untied her arms, shuffling around her room until he found a towel to wipe her off with.

“So what did you think?”

“I… enjoyed that,” she admitted. “It was arousing to be bound like that. I would never have guessed.”

“Oh my pet,” he chuckled, drawing her in close to him. “We have so much more to show you.”

“We?” She squeaked.

“We. Kiyone in particular has been eyeing you ever since we came here.”

“Oh.” _Oh._

“All up to you though, of course.” Reaching around to cup the back of her head, he gave her one last lingering kiss before crawling back off the bed. Alistair grabbed his shirt and pants from the floor and dressed himself, placing the rope and blindfold back in his bag. Glancing up, he caught her staring at his backside and waggled his eyebrows at her. “Enjoying the view?”

Groaning, she buried her head in her knees, pouting at his laugh.

“I’m flattered, Inquisitor. Well, I’ll go now. Just let one of us know if this is something you want to pursue.”

“I will,” she called out. “Thank you, Alistair.”

“Believe me when I say anytime,” tossing a wink at her, his head disappeared down the stairs, and with a soft creak of her door, he was gone.

As soon as her room was quiet again, she knew. She wanted him again. And she wanted Cullen. Idly, she wondered if her Commander was as well endowed as the Warden. And Kiyone… Evelyn had dallied with women before, quiet, hushed trysts in the circle dormitories. What would it be like to be open with another female again? Closing her eyes, she pictured it. Kiyone’s mouth sucking on her breasts, delicate fingers tracing the curve of her waist, Cullen’s head buried between her legs, oh Maker, she never even imagined a pleasure like that, and Alistair fucking his wife, staring down at them all. She could feel herself already growing wet again at the very thought.

_Supper tomorrow. I can invite them over here tomorrow. Maker's balls, I can't believe I'm even considering this. But... Let this please not be all just one giant mistake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have more smut. Happy Holidays!


	25. Chapter 25

Their room was empty, as he expected it to be. Throwing his clothes off into a dark corner, Alistair collapsed to the bed, utterly pleased with himself. Evelyn had enjoyed the little bit of play he had showed her. No telling if she would go for Cullen’s darker side, but at least the spark was there. She was interested. Hoping against all hope, Alistair fell asleep dreaming of Cullen’s glorious smile when he found out.

And woke up, hours later, the gray light of the pre-dawn streaming into the bedroom. “Ki?” 

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” she whispered, crawling into bed next to him. “Go back to sleep, Ali.” Humming, he wrapped his arms around her back. Alistair froze. Running his hands over her skin, he could feel dozens of welts and scratches, so many more than he ever had expected. Jerking upright, he threw the covers off and grabbed a candle.

“Maker’s balls, Ki, _your back_. He went too far this time. I need to-” His legs were already moving, thrown over the side of the bed when he felt her hand on his arm.

“Alistair, I’m fine. Look at me. No, not at my body, my face.” His breaths were coming hard and furious, and he found that, for once, he was angry. Livid. He demanded Cullen’s blood for hers. She gently cupped his cheek. “I could have stopped him at any time, but I didn’t. I’m sore, but I’m not hurt. Don’t fret, love.”

“Don’t fret,” he scoffed. “It looks like he beat you. Why? Why do you let him go this far?” Evelyn’s words from earlier drifted back to him. _Why don’t you want to know about the motive behind it all?_

“He needs it. It helps quiet his demons,” she said softly.

“Yes, but at what cost to you?” Sighing despondently, he dropped back to his pillow.

“Ali, I- I like it. I like the pain.” Her eyes tentatively raised to meet his, shame lurking behind the darkness.

“But why?” he whispered.

“I suppose…” Leaning back, she stared blankly at the ceiling. “It helps me feel more real. Like this place is real. Reminds me that I’m actually here, in Thedas with you, and not back on Earth, just dreaming of this place. It grounds me to the present, so I don’t get lost in the past.” Blinking, he rolled over to study her. She rarely talked about where she came from anymore. And like a fool, he had simply ignored her origins, assuming she was over it. _Over it. Like anyone could really get over being torn away from their home and dropped into another world. You’re an idiot, Theirin, and you don’t deserve her._

“I am so sorry,” he breathed. “I never even thought...”

“No, you didn’t. Why would you?” Her smile was sad and wistful, filling him with a deep seated ache. Maker, he was such a damn fool. “I never talked about it. I thought, if I didn’t, I would just forget one day, but… I worry sometimes. That this is just a dream. That one day I’ll wake up there, and you’ll have been just a figment of my imagination. I don’t think I could bear that,” she murmured softly.

“I _am_ real. And so are you. And there is nothing in this world or yours or any other that will ever tear me away from you. I will fight the Void itself to keep us together, do you understand me?” Glancing up into his eyes, she almost gasped at the intensity and determination she saw burning within. 

“I believe you. I love you,” she leaned over to kiss him, soft and sweet with the barest hint of desperation and yearning. “More than anyone or anything in this world or the next.”

“And I you.” Pushing away his unease at her wounds, he tucked her in close to his chest, and was soon lulled to sleep by her deep, even breaths. _I can’t lose her. Ever._

*** 

That morning was the longest morning Cullen had ever experienced. With every creak of his doors, every gust of wind, every clipped, “Commander! Message for you!”, his heart leapt into his throat. Still, no word came until lunchtime. 

Kicking open the door with her foot, Kiyone smiled brightly at him, a large tray of food perched precariously on her shoulder, a few earthenware flagons tied around her waist. “Brought you lunch.”

“For me or the entire army?” he snorted.

“Alistair qualifies as army by himself when it comes to food, I think,” she responded dryly, setting her burden down on his desk. “He’ll be by soon.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” she grinned. “He hasn’t told me anything yet either. And before you ask, no, I haven’t seen Evelyn today.”

Clearing off a space in front of him, Cullen took the bowl of stew she held out for him, wiping crumbs off his pants as he tore into the hot, crusty bread. Kiyone glanced around for another chair, glared at the one far across the room, then shrugged as she decided to simply hop onto his desk instead, crossing her feet underneath her.

“Please, sit on my desk while there’s a perfectly good chair over there,” he replied sarcastically.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she grinned. Throwing the door open, Alistair strode in, bringing along with a gust of wind, the papers that Kiyone wasn’t sitting on fluttering to the ground. “See? I helped. My ass makes a fantastic paperweight. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Grumbling under his breath, Cullen ducked to the ground and began picking the scattered documents up while Alistair, thank the Maker, dragged the chair over to the desk and helped himself to the remaining food.

“So?” Straightening, the Commander glared at the blissful Warden, happily shoveling food into his mouth.

“Suh wha?” Alistair mumbled around a mouthful.

“Don’t tease him,” Kiyone chided. “You know what he’s asking.”

“Ooh, right, last night.” Leaning back, Alistair smirked up at his best friend, content to simply enjoy the tension and Cullen’s glower. “You know, you’re actually really sexy like that, all demanding and scowl-y and stuff. That way you wrinkle your nose and curl your lip? Makes me want to lick your scar.”

“Alistair,” Cullen spluttered. “Spit it out, or Maker help me-”

“Fine, fine, no fun, I swear,” he huffed. “We talked for a bit. About what we get up to, the sort of things we use, the idea of control and dominance. She was a bit curious, so I… showed her some things.” Licking his lips, he felt his blood grow hot, remembering how sweet she tasted, how responsive she was. “She liked it,” he croaked. “It was pretty mild, but still, she enjoyed what we did.”

Silence. None of the others were paying attention to their meal any longer, the hearty stew growing cold as the both stared at him.

Kiyone broke the silence first as it became clear that Cullen had lost all capability of logical speech. “What sort of things did you do?”

“Tied her down, blindfolded her,” he smirked, keeping his voice neutral, in a tone he usually reserved for discussing the weather. “She particularly enjoyed being teased, and the little bit of pain I gave her when I entered her.” Cullen’s strangled cry, that wild expression in his eyes was worth everything, he decided just then.

Studying their lover, now reduced to a trembling pile of want, Kiyone murmured, “So now we just wait?”

“Now we wait.”

“Andraste preserve me.”

“Oh, I think we’re past the point of the Maker’s grace, my dear,” Alistair laughed, ruffling Cullen’s hair. “At least the consensus was positive. She just has to figure out what she wants.”

Finding that his appetite was now completely diminished, Cullen gave the rest of his lunch to Alistair, keeping only a small bowl of fruit for himself for later. Words and figures danced in front his vision for the next few hours after they left, but nothing made sense. All he could picture was Evelyn, her pale skin bound by silk, being impaled on Alistair’s impressive girth, crying out as he-

 _This is hopeless. Utterly, completely hopeless. I should have never asked Kiyone to find out anything. I should have insisted that our previous arrangement was fine, that I didn’t need anything else, that I didn’t need her._ But not only was that a lie, it also wasn’t fair, that he should be so happy with his lovers while Evelyn slept every night alone in her cold, vast bed. She deserved to be held, worshipped, loved, just as Alistair and Kiyone did for him.

A rough sigh escaped him as he thumbed the new pile of correspondence the last runner had dropped off several minutes before. Status reports on Caer Bronach, Griffon Wing, and that new keep in the Emerald Graves Evelyn and her team had recently cleared. And a letter from Mia. Warily slicing the envelope open, his heart warmed as he read through the familiar, neat script, so like his own.

Hello dear brother. I’m not sure if you even remember me, but this is your sister. You know, the only big sister you have? Still in South Reach. Still related to you and missing you, even though you’ve forgotten all of us here. You know, a word or two would suffice- 'Cullen here. Not dead. Love you too. Bye.' In any case, word of the Inquisition keeps spreading, so at least we know you are alive and seem to be doing well, so that’s a relief. Branson and Rosalie say hi as well. Write to me, please? It would be so nice to hear from you, just once. With love, Mia.

He really needed to write his sister. How long had it been since he actually wrote to her? Kirkwall. Before the chantry exploded. _Maker’s breath, you don’t deserve any of these people in your life._ Sliding a blank piece of parchment in front of him, Cullen dipped his quill into the ink and began to write.

 ~~Dear Mia. Thank you for writing, I~~ \- ~~Things at Skyhold are going well~~ \- I’m in a relationship with another man and his wife and might add the Inquisitor to our orgy soon

With a self-deprecating chuckle, he balled up the paper and held a candle to it, shaking his head at his foolishness as the letter went up in flames. 

“Commander, message from the Inquisi- Are you burning letters, ser?”

Glancing up, Cullen motioned for the soldier to give him the note. “Yes? And?”

“Uh, nothing ser. Absolutely nothing at all.” Blinking, the man bowed hastily before scampering out. Cullen stared at the folded paper, his name scrawled in her elaborate penmanship across the front. For several moments, that was all he did. Sit, and stare. As if he could discern a motive by the mere presence of the message.

But the innocuous slip of paper did nothing to assuage his fears. With trembling fingers, he reached for the parchment, and unfolded it.

_Cullen, would you join me for supper tonight in my chambers? At the eighth bell, if that’s alright with you. --Evelyn_

She wanted him to go to supper. With her. In her room. A thousand possibilities raced through his mind. Just him alone? Would there be others? What should he wear? When was the last time he bathed? Did he even have anything nice to wear? DId she- want to? With him? Or just talk? Would he even be able to eat? Grabbing his quill, he quickly tore off another scrap of paper and scribbled an affirmative reply, bolting out of his office to flag down the nearest runner. Well, there was only one way to find out.

*** 

Smoothing her skirts, Kiyone stepped into the dim stairwell first, Alistair following on her heels. Neither spoke as they ascended the tower, high up to where the Inquisitor’s quarters lay, the sounds of shouts and laughs from the main hall fading as they climbed. 

“Nervous?” Her fist rested against the dark wood poised to knock, her body turning back to him.

“A bit,” she confessed. “I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Food, hopefully. I’m starving.” Rolling her eyes, Kiyone rapped on the door.

“Come in!”

Pushing the door open, they climbed the last few stairs into the brightly lit room, a pleasant fire roaring in the hearth, along with a very pale Commander who stiffly leaned against the balcony door frame clutching a cup of dark liquid so hard, she wondered if the glass would crack.

“We were just wondering when you’d two show,” Evelyn smiled nervously at the pair, her own hands in her lap, fidgeting. “Ah, supper is ready, if you care to eat.”

The tension in the room was palpable, so thick that Kiyone felt like she was choking. At least, Cullen looked like he was choking. Glancing around, Alistair shrugged and took a seat. “So, how are things going with the Samson lead, Cul?”

Jerking out of his trance, the Commander walked with lurching steps to the table, as if he were sitting down to sup with assassins rather than people he loved. “I believe we have him. It seems there’s an old Tevinter shrine in northern Orlais, and a vast majority of the red lyrium is being trafficked there. We’re finalizing the final details, but it should be soon that we can attack.”

“Do you think Samson will be there? Or Corypheus? Or that stupid, ugly dragon?”

“Maker’s breath, I hope the dragon won’t be there. Samson, definitely.” Little by little, Alistair deftly drew out the Inquisitor and her Commander into relaxed conversation, a feat that more than impressed his wife. He gave himself too little credit, she smiled to herself. The Warden considered himself unfit to lead and slow-witted, but the longer they stayed here in Skyhold, the more she saw in him the man he truly was. A man who was supposed to have been king. The notion brought with it a sudden pang of melancholy. Teagan had wanted Alistair to go back to Ferelden. To possibly join the ranks of nobility. Perhaps groom him to be heir to the current queen. But he had refused, partly because of his lingering distrust, partly because of her. And seeing him at the ball in Halamshiral… Alistair had been magnificent. Dashing, charming, utterly captivating. He was a man to which people listened when he spoke, by virtue of his warm, effusive personality. People flocked to him, because he truly cared and listened. Whereas Cullen led his men with his quiet resolve and firm example, the torment of his past fueling his passion for the future. They were such a pair, her men.

The clink of silverware against ceramic eventually began to die down as the food disappeared, all members of the table considerably more at ease now that they had just opened their third bottle of wine. Scooping up the last bite of cobbler, Alistair hovered the spoon just in front of Cullen’s face, trying to tempt him to take the last bite.

“I told you, I’m full. Now get that away before you spill it and it stains.”

“Tch, fine. I’ll eat it then.” Popping the blueberry sweet into his mouth, Alistair let out the loudest, most exaggerated groan at the taste, Evelyn trying to hide her giggles behind her hand, while the others rolled their eyes at his antics.

Moving closer to the fire, Cullen and Evelyn both took the armchairs on the opposite ends of the sofa, Alistair and Kiyone curling up together on the plush sofa. “Sleepy?” he smiled, kissing her hair.

“A bit. You know what wine does to me,” Kiyone yawned.

Evelyn sat in silence, playing with the stem of her glass. Lifting the dark ruby liquid, she quickly drained the rest of its contents before looking up nervously. “So, ah, I didn’t just ask you all here to join me for a meal. I mean, I did, but that wasn’t it. I- I suppose you all know what happened last night?” Everyone nodded, Alistair tossing her a saucy wink over his wife’s head. She blushed. “Well, um. Maker, how do I put this? I-” With a frustrated groan, she buried her face in her hands. “Obviously I haven’t had enough wine.”

“You enjoyed it?” Kiyone asked quietly. Evelyn nodded, her face still hidden. “Did you want to pursue something with Cullen? Or all of us?” No response.

“Whatever you decide, none of us will be offended. It’s entirely up to you,” Alistair assured her. She mumbled something unintelligible. “Er, pardon?”

“All.”

No one spoke for the span of several heartbeats, the temperature in the room rising suddenly. Flushing red, both men tossed back the rest of their own drinks and leaned forward. “All?” Cullen murmured huskily. “Are you sure?”

“I-I think so,” she glanced up, freezing under his intense amber gaze. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay,” Alistair restrained his urge to dance around the room like an Avvar in some barbarian mating dance..

Gracefully rising to her feet, Kiyone crossed the rug to where Evelyn sat, once again nervously fidgeting with her hands. Holding out her own, she smiled as pale, slender fingers wrapped tentatively around hers. “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In celebration of the day, and the fact that a bunch of my favorite fics updated today, here's a new chapter.


	26. Chapter 26

Evelyn’s eyes were wide as she took in Kiyone standing before her, slightly bent, one hand on her knee and the other extended. “Shall we?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, she tentatively raised her hand, the unmarked one, and laid it in the other’s woman’s palm. Her skin was rough from the years of handling her daggers and staff, but the top of her hand, where her thumb now lay was silken velvet. Kiyone’s eyes were bright as she pulled the Inquisitor up, giggling a bit as she had to crane her neck to continuing staring at the other woman.

“You’re- you’re so short,” Evelyn blurted out. “I never really noticed before.”

“I make do,” she grinned. “See?” Standing on her tiptoes, Kiyone curled one of her hands around her neck and tugged her down, pausing right before their lips met. “It all works out in the end,” she breathed. The Herald’s lips were warm, and wholly unlike either Alistair or Cullen. Soft, plush, her dark tresses filling her senses with the scent of lemons and lavender.

“Maker’s breath,” came a hoarse, muttered whisper.

“Shh, don’t bother them, they’ll stop.”

Smiling against her lips, Evelyn opened her eyes and glanced down Kiyone, gathering what courage she had left. “May I?” she tapped the laces of her dress.

“Please,” Kiyone spun around, trying to reign in her breathing as she felt nimble fingers loosening her bodice, tugging the skirts over her head. Turning back to face her, she then returned the favor, tossing Evelyn’s blouse to one side as her pants landed somewhere else unknown. Her throat was suddenly parched. Tracing a finger across the edge of her breastband, Kiyone smirked. “I’ve always wanted to know how your skin tasted.”

“Now’s your chance.” Dark eyes met brilliant emerald green.

“Seems that way.” Lightly, Kiyone shoved the other woman back, a predatory gleam on her face that left Evelyn feeling weak in the knees. Deftly, she reached behind her and slipped the snug fabric off, pushing her down to the bed and crawling up her long body. “You are incredible,” she murmured. One of her fingers grazed gently over a dusky pink tip. Lowering her head, Kiyone licked a path up Evelyn’s creamy neck, flicking her tongue over the hollow of her throat, nibbling up her jawline until she reached the shell of ear and carefully bit down on the lobe. The resulting moan sent shivers down her spine. “Alistair likes this, too. I swear I could make him come just like this.”

“I’d like to see that,” Evelyn gasped, watching wide-eyed as Kiyone shimmied back down her stomach. 

“Later, perhaps.” Latching onto one pert nipple, she sucked in sharply, delicately pinching the other peak between her fingers, moving from side to side, worshipping the Inquisitor’s breasts until the peaks were glistening red and she was writhing and panting underneath her body. Glancing up, Kiyone smiled as she moved further down and hooked her fingers in her smalls, and pulled. “Gods, look at you. Such a pretty pink cunt you have.” A shattered masculine groan echoed from somewhere off to the side. Slowly, she dragged one finger against her slit, teasing the folds open. “And already wet, I see.” Swirling her digit in the gasping woman’s arousal, Kiyone moaned as she tasted her juices. “Fucking perfect.”

Spreading her legs further apart, a hand on each of her thighs, Kiyone settled on her knees and laid her chest on the bed, arching her spine as she began her torment on the Inquisitor, using the flat of her tongue to lick at her opening, thoroughly tasting every hidden crevice, doing her best to avoid that place where she needed her most. “Kiyone, please!” Deciding to be generous, Kiyone slid her middle finger in and crooked it upwards. Evelyn keened, her hands tangling in the other woman’s hair. “Yes, like that, oh sweet Maker!”

It was too much even for Kiyone now, the sweet mewls and whimpers from Evelyn, the way she moved under her hands, how she tugged so deliciously on her hair, the scent of her musk and the taste of her overwhelming all her senses. Firmly latching her lips around her swollen clit, Kiyone sucked hard, moaning as Evelyn screamed, and slid another finger, wiggling them until she found that rough patch just inside.

Her body tensed, practically flinging herself off the mattress as she came, a flood of cream gushing forth and coating Kiyone’s tongue, the most perfect squelching noises slowly coming to a stop as Evelyn grasped for reality. “Holy Andraste, that was… Amazing.” 

Utterly pleased with herself, Kiyone sat back on her heels and admired the flushed woman laying before her. “Cullen,” she called back. “Come here.” Completely helpless to do nothing but obey, he lurched forward, his pupils dilated so far they were almost completely black, his nostrils flaring with each ragged breath. She grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to the bed. “Taste her on my lips.”

“Fuck,” he hissed. His lips crashed down on hers violently, swiping his tongue across hers, desperately delving into her mouth to lick up every bit of Evelyn’s orgasm from Kiyone’s skin.

“Doesn’t she taste so sweet,” she murmured as he finally pulled back, gasping like a man starving for air. Cullen’s eyes locked onto Evelyn, drinking the sight of her in. “Here, see for yourself.” Sliding off the bed, Kiyone disappeared from his peripheries, so that only Evelyn remained. Waiting for him.

“Cullen,” she whispered. Maker’s breath, but she was beautiful. Pale skin glowing in the dim candlelight, her green eyes reflecting the serpentstone light of her mark, full lips just slightly parted as she stared back at him. Somehow, he wasn’t even sure when, he had completely disrobed, standing naked with one hand wrapped around himself as he watched the two women. Her gaze dropped to his erection, heavy and purple with want, skin glistening from his own arousal, smeared all over himself.

“Evelyn,” he climbed onto the bed with her, straddling her legs. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” she replied with no hesitation. “I’m yours.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“ _Maker_.” Diving right back between her legs, Cullen began an new assault on her core, his tongue and mouth considerably rougher. Whereas Kiyone had coaxed and persuaded an orgasm out of her with delicate and silken touches, Cullen demanded and forced her peak to rise and crest. In no time at all, she was screaming his name, her hands pinned by her sides with his, his elbows digging into her thighs to keep her still. Refusing to let up, his mouth claimed her body for his own, wrenching a third high from her before he finally let her go, her body now reduced a limp and pliant pile of bones and skin against the rumpled sheets. “Finished already, Inquisitor? I’m not done with you yet,” he smirked.

Her whimper was pitiful, and for a second, he almost felt sorry for her. But then he heard the sounds behind him, wet skin slapping against skin. Turning around, he sucked in a sharp breath at sight of Kiyone bent over the edge of the sofa, gripping on for dear life, as Alistair thrust deep inside of her, one large hand gripping her hair back tightly for leverage. Glancing back, he caught Evelyn’s open mouthed stare.

“Enjoy watching, do you?”

She blushed. “I-I’ve never, not before today.” Pulling her upright to her knees, Cullen placed her hands on one of her bedposts and crawled behind her.

“Don’t take your eyes off of them.”

She felt his fingers first, parting her ass cheeks, rubbing against her slickness. Gripping the carved wood tighter, she pushed her hips back as she felt something considerably larger, and more smooth press up against her.

“That’s it, Evelyn, breathe.” She was trying to, really. But the way he filled her with the sweetest, most agonizing burn she had ever experienced made it hard to remember to do things, like breathe. One of his palms skimmed down her soft stomach, pressing against her pelvis. “Look at the way he dominates her. The way she willingly submits to him, whatever he desires, all the filthy and depraved things he likes to do to her. She love to be used, filled, possessed.” It was true. Alistair had his hands wrapped around her throat now, forcing her back to arch to the point where Evelyn was slightly worried she would break, his considerable girth slamming into her with enough power to send the massive couch skidding against the stone floor on every thrust.

Her groan was low and broken as he finally slid all the way into her, her sheath clamping around him as she fought to adjust to his length. “Cullen,” she whimpered.

“Maker’s breath, but you feel so good,” he muttered in her ear, gently massaging her windpipe. “So fucking tight.” Running his hands all over her breasts, her stomach, her arms, he sighed happily. “So soft. Just perfect.” His pace was slow and steady as he moved within her, the limits of his self control stretched to the absolute limit as he attempted to give her enough time to relax into him.

The room was saturated with the smell of sex and the sound of moans, grunts, and gasps. If anyone saw them like this, knew what they were getting up- No, Evelyn decided. No one would ever suspect the gracious, proper Herald of Andraste of participating in something this depraved. Hell, she didn’t even believe she was doing this yet. But the grip of his fingers around her waist and the sight of Alistair’s back, his muscles flexing in the moonlight as he brutally fucked his wife, told her this was very, very real.

“Oh, Maker,” she breathed as Alistair slid a finger into his wife’s ass.

“Do you like that?” Cullen asked huskily. “Look at how much she loves it, begs him for more. I could do that to you, you know. Fill you completely.” His finger slid down over her clit, flicking the sensitive nub.

“I- ahh!” She lost all hold on rational thought or speech. Yanking her away from the bedpost, Cullen pulled out of her and flung her back onto the edge, pouncing on top of her and plunging back inside. His gaze was wild and almost feral, sweat dripping off the tip of his nose into the valley of her breasts. “I’m going to-”

“Yes,” he begged. “Come for me again, sweetheart.” It felt like she was floating away from her body, and his thick cock inside of her was the only thing anchoring her to this world. "Where-"

"Inside," she might have responded. Honestly, she wasn't sure what she said but apparently it was enough to give him the right idea. Higher and higher she rose, until all she knew was pleasure tingling across her body, the flash of her mark crackling across the darkness, and the feeling of his seed, hot and creamy spurting inside of her.

For several minutes, neither spoke, both of them gasping for air, his head nestled in the crook of her neck. Idly, she ran a hand up and down his back, tracing the marks of his scars that littered his skin, a shiny one here, a line there, a puckered indent here. 

“Was everything okay?” he mumbled into her hair.

“Perfect,” she sighed, feeling the remaining tension drain out of his body at her words. Raising his head, his answering grin had a playful, boyish charm to it. Carefully he eased out of her, and curled up next to her trembling body, wrapping his broad arms around her.

“That’s so sweet,” Alistair called out, from where he lay on the sofa with his wife snuggled against his chest.

“You’re one to talk,” Cullen retorted.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Kiyone whined.

“Me either,” Evelyn replied.

Kiyone was the first one to start giggling, and before long, they were all laughing, delighted, happy and _free_. Whoever would have thought that this would be their life? All of them together? And yet, it was all so perfect. Together, they fit, like one giant puzzle- incomplete on their own, but joined, their true purpose shone. To love and be loved in return. 

“Oh, Maker,” Alistair chuckled. Sitting up, he gently shook his wife, who was already drowsy, her eyelids drooping heavily. “We should get back to our room.”

“Mmkay,” she smiled sleepily up at him. “Find my clothes?”

It took him several minutes of hunting, as their personal belongings were strewn everywhere across the vast chamber, but soon enough, he was dressed and so was she. Evelyn sat up from where she lay in bed and held out a hand.

“You could stay,” she suggested. Shaking his head, Alistair leaned over to kiss her softly on the nose.

“Not tonight. Next time, perhaps.” Nodding, she fell back against her pillow, Cullen’s eyes already shut as he clutched her tightly, as a child would a stuffed toy. Kiyone gave him an indulgent smile and pressed a kiss to his brow, and one to Evelyn’s cheek.

“Sleep well, my dears.” Together, they quietly stole out of her room, leaving only the Inquisitor and her slumbering Commander, finally together after so many months of self-inflicted longing.

“Cullen?” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” he nuzzled her chest. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Soon, the sound of faint snores were the only disturbance in the night.

***

It was a strange sensation, after so long of sleeping alone, to wake up to another person in the bed beside her. Strange, but not unwelcome. Especially when her bedmate was as handsome as hers.

His mouth was slightly open and smushed into the pillows, one arm under his head and the other resting on her stomach. The sheets had been tossed aside at some point in the night so she had nothing obstructing her vision of his glorious, muscled bulk and firm, golden skin. There was a peace to his countenance that she had never seen before, his furrowed brow smoothed over, his body lax and loose. So much of the time when he was awake, his face looked harried and worn, as if all the cares of the world rested on his shoulders alone. And perhaps he believed them to be. Maker knew how much his past had affected him. Knowing him, he probably thought this was all his penance to pay. 

“Enjoying the view?” His sleep roughened voice chuckled.

“Immensely,” she smiled. “I think we missed breakfast.” His eyes flew open at that.

“Maker’s breath, how long did I sleep? My men are probably wondering where I am.”

Shaking her head, she watched bemusedly as he shot out of bed and began throwing his rumpled clothes on, hopping around her room like a one legged rabbit. “People will notice you know. When you go downstairs wearing a wrinkled tunic and- is your hair curly?”

Grimacing, he ran a hand through his blonde locks, the usual tamed waves crimped into something unruly. “Er. It is.”

Evelyn wished she could see it how it was in its natural state so she could determine how curly it actually was. And then she realized she probably would, sooner rather than later. The idea made her positively giddy. “So that explains the nickname. I kind of like it.”

“It makes me look like a child,” he pouted.

“Ah, yes, it’s the hair that does that.”

Snatching up a pillow, he threw it at her, smirking at her indignant shriek right before he pounced on her and pinned her back to the bed. “Are you mocking me, Inquisitor?”

“I would never dare, Commander,” she giggled breathlessly.

“Hmm.” He skimmed one hand down her side, raising an eyebrow as she twitched away from him. “And what’s this?”

“Cullen,” she warned, trying to squirm away from his touch.

Laughing, he released her and sat back on his heels. “You’re safe from me. For now. I make no promises about later.” Scooting up until her naked breasts were pressed against his thin, cotton shirt, she blinked up at him from under long lashes and leaned forward to kiss him, lips dancing over his in a feather light caress. Her Commander whimpered, his hands gripping tightly around her toned back. “You’re killing me, Evelyn.”

“See you tonight?” Her bright eyes were hopeful as she released him and reclined back on her bed, her smile soft and alluring.

“Of course,” he bowed, then frowned as he adjusted himself. “ _Maker’s breath_. Yes. Tonight.”

Evelyn giggled as he gave her a mock scowl before tossing her a lopsided salute and exiting her room. Stretching out, she relished in the feel of the ache between her legs, the heaviness to her limbs, and the fullness of her heart. A girl could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut smut smut. I'm thinking I have about 10 ish chapters left in this. Bunch of plot coming up, but of course, more smut too, HAVE NO FEAR. And angst.


	27. Chapter 27

By the time Evelyn finally descended down into the main hall, the room was mostly empty, the staff having left for their posts and the nobles having scattered to do whatever it was they did all day. Only a few people were left, among them, Varric and Kiyone. The dwarf was bent over a stack of parchment, his quill furiously scribbling out letters as usual, while the woman was deeply engrossed with a length of ribbon, a needle in one hand.

“What are you doing?”

“He made them! Blackwall, that is. Not the prettiest thing ever, but not bad for a first attempt,” Kiyone waved around something that resembled a shoe. A lumpy shoe, with a flat toe, covered in pale yellow satin. One ribbon was already sewn onto one side of the shoe, while the other was in the process of being threaded.

“Oh, this is your dance shoe? I remember you talking about it awhile back.”

“Mm,” she hummed happily. “We’ll see how they hold up once I get these on. Care to watch?”

“Oh, I’ve got to see this,” Evelyn grinned. “Tonight at supper?”

Nodding, she turned her attention back to her work, sticking her tongue out as she concentrated on the needle in her hand. _She’s so adorable_ , the Herald smiled fondly to herself.

“Inquisitor? Commander needs to see you, urgent he says,” a messenger jogged up from the direction of Solas’ solar.

“I bet it is,” Kiyone snorted under her breath. Stiflng a giggle, Evelyn turned away and eagerly made her way to Cullen’s tower, resisting the urge to skip the whole way there like a teenager in the first throes of love. Then again, when had she felt like this last? Had she ever? Just so… happy? It was hard to remember, if it ever had happened before.

Pushing the door open, Evelyn was instantly greeted by his hands on her waist, twirling her through the air like she weighed nothing. “Cullen,” she laughed. “What’s going on?”

“We have him,” he grinned fiercely back at her. “Samson. We’ve found his base.”

“Good work, Commander. I knew you would,” she smiled back up at him. “I’ll gather a team and leave at once.”

“I would like to accompany you as well.” She frowned at him. It was a risk, him being on the road with her, and in battle. Not to mention that it was pretty much a guarantee that the place would be filled with red lyrium, if the condition of Emprise du Lion was any indication of what they could expect. If something were to happen to him…

No. He was a warrior, trained since he was a child for the sword and shield, and a grown man, fully aware of his limits. If there was anyone she should want at her back, it would be him.

“It would be an honor to fight at your side, Commander.”

***

“Ow! Mother fucking piece of-” Yanking the needle out of her abused finger, now riddled with dozens of tiny pinpricks, Kiyone finished tying off the last bit of thread. For the billionth time since arriving in Thedas, she sighed wistfully, wishing she had an iPod or something so she could play music. _Oh, well. Maybe I can get Maryden to play something for me later._

The shoes were finally ready. Holding one up, she smiled in the light of her empty room, curled up on the couch. It was horribly misshapen, and the chances of the toe box collapsing on her were pretty high. But still, it was better than nothing. Grabbing the bit of lambswool she had bought earlier that day from a merchant, she stuffed the soft padding into the shoe and slipped it on.

 _A little loose. Hmm. I could line the sides with more leather strips. Take in this bit here. That should work._ Shaking fingers tied off the ribbon at her ankle, the movements so familiar and yet, not, almost like it was a dream. She vividly recalled her old dreams. Her main goal in life back then was to be on Broadway. Sing and dance for a living, a new show and a new crowd every night, bowing as the curtain fell to thunderous applause. Or, maybe, finding a dance company. Tour the world. But now?

She was impossibly stranded on another world, whether it was a different planet or dimension or universe, there was no way of telling. Where they had to boil fish guts and bone down to make the glue for her shoes. Nothing like Broadway here. Technology stuck somewhere between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. But it wasn’t all bad. There was still plenty of joy to be found here in the simple things.

The warmth of the sun after a long winter. A cozy fire and a thick blanket, her love tucked against her chest. A victory in the sparring ring. Watching the children giggle and play in the courtyard with nothing but rocks and sticks and sewn dolls to entertain them, listening to their young imaginations go wild. Sitting around the tavern accusing everyone of cheating. Friendship. Family. 

Maybe it was better this way, she mused. To live life by the fullest here, knowing that every day could be her last. The prevalence of death that permeated every facet of her current existence made her appreciate things more. To take nothing for granted. Like new shoes.

Hesitantly, she stood up and walked around to the back of the couch, gripping it for support in case something snapped. And rose up en pointe. The shoe settled and creaked around her foot, but it was holding. Grinning, she twirled herself in a little pirouette, springing from her sole to her toes in one sharp, crisp movement.

Humming a few bars from her favorite song, Moonlight Sonata, she gracefully began a slow circuit of the room, testing out her current range of both her ankles and shoes, being careful not to trip on the uneven stone floor. This was perfect. Her heart soared around her, and tears prickled the back of her eyes. It felt like she was whole again, after all these years. A piece she hadn’t even realized was missing was back.

“Well, well, look at you.” Lowering her limbs from the stately arabesque she was frozen in, Kiyone smiled sheepishly at Alistair, so lost in her own world had she been that she never heard him enter the room. “That looks painful,” he commented mildly.

“It does hurt. But, worth it,” she spun in wide circle. “I’ve kept up my muscles as best as I could, but still lost a lot. Plus years of technique and flexibility just from getting older. And colder,” she added as Alistair tossed another log onto the fire.

“Oh I don’t know,” he walked towards her, grinning as he held out a hand, “I think you’re flexible enough for my purposes.”

“Pervert,” she shoved him affectionately. “For that, perhaps, but I can’t quite do this anymore.” Bracing herself against his arm, she slowly raised one leg straight in the air to the side until it hovered just a few inches from her head, trembling under the strain. “See? I used to be able to bring it all the way against my head. Without shaking. And to the back, too.” Lowering her leg, she kicked it out behind her, the limb much farther away this time from its mark. “I’m losing it.”

“Still impressive,” he shook his head. “Is that why you never see acrobats over a certain age? I remember seeing a traveling troupe once and they were all so young.”

Kiyone nodded. “Muscles get more brittle and tense as you age. Happens to everyone, although with the proper practice and conditioning, you could still dance for decades.” Sighing wistfully, she moved her leg in a slow arc and pushed herself up onto her toes, and arched her back, letting Alistair catch her weight. There was a distinct cracking sound from her left foot, and she groaned as she flopped back down to her soles. “Yeah, I don’t think I can do much else in these shoes. Next pair should be better.”

“Hmm. Do that thing you did a second ago, lifting your leg up.”

Curious, she did as he bade, using her hand this time to help guide her leg up into the air, then grinned as he took it from her and rested it against his chest, pinning the limb between their bodies. “This will do quite nicely,” he murmured, one hand drifting downwards along the back of her thigh. “For later,” Alistair squeezed her ass.

“Tease,” she pouted. 

Eyes crinkling down at her, he chuckled and released her. “Come on, love. Supper should be soon. Everyone’s already gathering in the tavern.”

The mood throughout Skyhold that night was what she would call hesitantly celebratory. The Inquisitor and her Commander were riding out at dawn to the stronghold of the Elder One’s general, and the people were confident that Samson would bow to her and her magic. It was only a matter of time before Corypheus himself would be destroyed, and then Thedas would finally be at peace.

Excited, hushed whispers followed the couple as they wandered down into the courtyard, hand in hand. Kiyone frowned. “Everyone’s so happy, and they haven’t even left yet.”

“They have hope,” Alistair grinned. “Not a bad thing to have, considering the times, don’t you think?”

“No, it’s not, it’s just…” she sighed, gripping his fingers tighter. “They’re both going to be gone. If anything happens to them, I-”

“None of that, Ki.” Pulling her off to the side, just shy of the tavern door, he sternly gazed down into her face. “Evelyn is one of most powerful mages I’ve ever seen, you know that. And Cullen is second to none. Well, save me, obvious.” She rolled her eyes. “And they’ll have troops with them. Cassandra, Varric, Dorian. There’s no better team in all of Thedas than what she’s taking with them. They will be fine, do you understand me?”

Leaning against his chest, Kiyone nodded. “How are you always so fucking optimistic?”

“It’s a curse,” he replied dryly. “Probably your fault though. I really wasn’t, not for a long time until you literally dropped into my life.”

“Oh. You’re welcome, I guess.”

“Thanks,” he laughed.

“If you two are done being disgustingly sweet, there’s food inside,” Dorian wrinkled his nose as he poked his head out of the door.

“Alistair will always be done doing anything if there’s food waiting on him,” Kiyone groaned. 

“There you are!” Evelyn’s face lit up like the sun on Summerday as the couple pushed their way through the crowd. “Maker, there’s so many people in here.” Beneath the cheery words, Kiyone detected the same hint of uncertainty lacing her tone that plagued her as well. The people celebrated like they already won. What if…

“Faith,” Cullen murmured, just loud enough so they could all hear. “It’s a powerful thing.” Something was different about the former templar. Cocking her head to study him while the food was served and the rest dug in, Kiyone examined his features.

He looked brighter, was that the word she was looking for? Almost as if he glowed from within. Amber eyes veritably sparkled with delight, and he… he was _relaxed_. Leaning back in the chair he sat in with one arm draped around Evelyn's chair, his posture was no longer rigid, his normally furrowed brow was smooth, and his laugh was rich and uninhibited. It was a sight she was used to seeing only in private, when they were curled around each other. Never in public. Never around other people.

“Something on my face?” Cullen asked bemusedly.

Kiyone gaped at him. “You- you’re _slumping_.”

Glancing down in confusion, he rubbed his neck, “Er… I suppose I am? Am I not allowed to?”

“No! I mean yes! I mean- Ugh,” she shook her head frustrated, Alistair snickering to her left. “It’s a good look on you. Dare I say you look happy? I wonder why,” winking at him, she was rewarded with two of the shyest blushes this side of the Frostbacks.

“They are rather adorable, aren’t they?” Alistair grinned. “And he’s not scowling for once! We should mark this occasion. Cabot, do you still have that Treviso red Storm 87?” Jumping up from the table, he snatched up the dusty bottle that the bartender plunked down in front of him. “Cheers, my friends.”

“To finally nailing Samson,” Cullen’s smile was fierce and predatory.

“To us,” Evelyn elbowed him in the ribs.

“To love,” Kiyone raised her glass.

“To cheese!”

“Alistair!”

“What? Cheese always goes great with toast.”

Caught between a mixture of groaning and hysterical laughter, the rest of the night passed far too quickly, the dark of the night blanketing the keep as the moons rose high in the sky. Bellies and hearts full, the friends left the tavern and strolled across the quiet courtyard.

“Come up for a bit?” Evelyn asked hopefully.

“For a little while. You both need your rest for the journey,” wrapping a hand around her waist, Kiyone squeezed tightly. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Both of you.”

“No harm will come to her while I draw breath,” Cullen vowed fervently.

Alistair glowered at the man. “You too. If anything happens to you, I swear to the Maker, Rutherford…”

“I’ll look after him,” Evelyn smiled. Back in her room, they all draped themselves over each other, getting as comfortable as possible in front of the fire. Spring was here, but that meant little this high up in the mountains, regardless of how well the ancient Elven magic protected Skyhold. It was still fucking cold. The women sat on the sofa and wrapped a plush, massive blanket around themselves, Cullen leaning against Kiyone’s legs, Alistair’s head in Cullen’s lap. Reaching out, Kiyone ran her fingers through his blonde curls, eliciting a low groan from the Commander.

“Don’t make sounds like that,” Alistair grunted. “It makes me think of things.”

“What sort of things,” Cullen smirked.

“Naughty things, you know that.”

“Hey, Ki,” Evelyn shifted to one side so she was facing the other woman. “I just realized I don’t really know much about you.”

“Hmm? Well, I’m 28. Only child. I like dogs, and oh yeah, Ali, where’s my mabari, hmm?” Peering over Cullen’s shoulder, she glared down at her husband, an expression of perfect bliss on his handsome face.

“When this is all over, I promise you we will get a mabari. Two, if you want,” he promised.

“You like dogs?” Cullen asked surprised.

“I love dogs. Say, when this is all over, what are you two going to do?”

Evelyn gave her a blank stare. “I… hadn’t really thought about it. I guess it depends? I mean, if the next Divine reinstates the Circles then…”

“No,” twisting around, Cullen laid a hand on her leg, his eyes determined. “You will never go back to a Circle, Evelyn. I will do everything in my power to prevent that fate.”

“Come be an apostate with me,” Kiyone smiled. “You know, we have a lovely little cabin on the edge of the Emerald Graves. There’s room to add on for both of you.”

“And do what?” Cullen scoffed. “Farm? As nice as it sounds, I don’t know how well I’d do in a life like that. Being a soldier is all I’ve ever known.”

“Do you really think I know how to farm?” Alistair snorted. “We protect the town. Bandits, bears, wolves. Speaking of which, I hope they’re all alright.”

“They got on fine before us, love. I’m sure they’re perfectly safe, given the amount of Inquisition agents in the area,” Kiyone replied.

“I’m not sure,” Evelyn sighed. “I’m so tired of fighting. Settling down in the middle of nowhere does sound lovely though. And the Emerald Graves are gorgeous.”

Shrugging, Alistair snuggled in closer to Cullen. “It’s an option, at least. We were also thinking about Redcliffe.” Cullen raised his eyebrow in surprise. Turning to stare up at his lover, he sighed. “Teagan. A few years back, he asked me to come back. And Arl Eamon is getting up there in age, and apparently wants to make amends, or something. It would be nice to live back in Ferelden again,” he added wistfully. “The more time I spend out there, the more I realize how much I miss it. The food, the people. The lack of Orlesians. There are far too many of them here, by the way. Those creepy masks.”

“Redcliffe was a nice village. By the way, Kiyone, don’t think I didn't notice how you ignored my question.”

“What question?” Kiyone blinked innocently. Reaching out, Evelyn poked her nose.

“About yourself. Where are you from?”

“Kirkwall,” she answered automatically.

“Were you born there? Your coloring and features are rather distinct.” Evelyn squinted at her. “I would say almost… Tevinter? But not quite. Where were your parents from?”

“Nowhere,” Kiyone shook her head. “Just… nowhere.” Staring at her hands, she could feel the weight of the other two’s stares upon her, heavy like a millstone around her neck.

“Ki…” Sitting up, Alistair took one of her hands. “It’s okay.”

“You know you can tell us anything,” Cullen leaned his chin on her knees, gazing up at her with those deep amber eyes, _like a fucking puppy_ , she grumbled to herself.

“You’d all think I was crazy.”

“Promise you we won’t.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she frowned at nothing in particular. “It was… 35, right? I woke up on the outskirts of Kirkwall. Alistair found me there. I’m not from here.”

“Here?” Evelyn was puzzled. “Here, as in Ferelden? The Free Marches?”

“Here as in Thedas. This world. My father was from Korea, my mother from Japan. Two countries that don’t exist here. There’s only one moon where I’m from, and it’s small and white. Things like swords and shields and metal armor and wagons are far in our past, by about 300 years. I’m-”

“From a different world?” Cullen breathed. Of all the things he had been expecting, this was not one of them. “Are you sure?”

“I know where I was born,” she snapped. “I know every detail of my life up until the day I woke up here. There was an accident. Somehow, instead of dying, I ended up here.”

“An accident? Was there a chance you possibly hit your head?” Evelyn asked gently.

Bolting up from the couch, Kiyone grabbed her boots, trying desperately to stem the tears she could feel burning behind her eyes. “It wasn’t a dream,” she gritted out. “It wasn’t. I don’t have amnesia, and I’m not crazy!”

“I know, love, I know,” leaping up, Alistair sprinted across the room, grabbing her and pressing her tightly to his chest. Glaring at the others, he said roughly, “I was the one who found her. Her clothes were like nothing I have ever seen. And how she reacted to everything here, there’s no way she could have forgotten everything, even with a head injury. She knew nothing of magic, or the Chantry, or that even elves and dwarves were real. I believer her.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t believe her,” Cullen protested. “It’s just… a lot to take in, that’s all.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Kiyone whimpered into her husband’s shirt. “It wasn’t a dream. This isn’t a dream.”

“No, it was real. And this is real. Hey, look at me.” Forcing her chin up, he gently wiped away a tear, feeling his heart break at the sight of her, trembling and so vulnerable. The last time she had been like this was when he first found her all those years ago, and she had caught her first glimpse of the moons. But back then he had been just merely uncomfortable at her distress. Now the pain he felt from witnessing her pain was so much worse, like a physical knife in his gut. Resisting to urge to throttle the others, he kissed her lips softly. “It was all real. Just like this is. Like I am. I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right?”

Shakily, she nodded. “Right,” she whispered. 

“Let’s go, get some rest. You two need your rest, as well. If we don’t see you tomorrow, safe journeys,” kneeling on the floor, he slipped Kiyone’s boots on before stuffing his own feet into his own.

Cullen walked across the room, holding out a helpless hand. “Ki, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t-”

“Don’t,” Alistair replied bitterly. “Just… leave it, okay?” Turning to leave, he sighed, then strode back to where the Commander stood, watching with mournful eyes full of regret. Giving him a rough hug, Alistair murmured, “It’ll be okay. Just give her time. Be safe.”

Evelyn watched them leave with a sinking pit in her stomach. “Cullen…”

“We fucked up,” he sighed. 

“What can we do to make it right?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “I really have no idea.”

Back in their room, the couple lay in their bed, his arms around her body, curled up into a ball. “Hey. Talk to me.”

One of her hands listlessly played with his chest hair. “I should have known they wouldn’t believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me. I don’t know why I reacted that way. I should have been expecting it.”

“You’re still scared,” tracing a calloused finger over her cheek, he kissed her nose. “And so am I. Whatever brought you here, sometimes I’m afraid it will take you back. And all these rifts everywhere…”

“I know. I think about it sometimes, too. It’s hard to remember my life before. The people. My parents. My friends. My job. Everything I had before. If I’m taken away from here, will it be like that again when I try to remember this? Will I struggle to remember you?”

“You are not leaving. I refuse to believe that. I can’t believe that.” He crushed her to his chest, her arms gripping him tightly, both heedless of the distinct lack of oxygen flowing to their bodies. “You’re going to stay here forever, we’re going to grow old together, get a few dogs, maybe adopt a few kids, and live happily ever after, okay? That is what’s going to happen. I won’t accept anything else.”

“Okay,” she nuzzled his chest. “That sounds nice. I wonder what you’d look like with gray hair.”

“Dashing, of course. What else would I look like?”

Giggling, she craned her neck up, tugging his head down to hers. “I love you, Alistair Theirin. So much.”

“Nothing will ever separate us. I swear on everything I hold dear,” he vowed with his entire being. “I love you, too.”

***

“She’s getting worse.”

Glancing up at the messenger from where he sat at the massive desk, the older man sighed, running a hand through hair that had mostly turned grey. “How long?”

“It’s hard to tell, my lord. Could be a year, possibly a month.”

Nodding pensively, he dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. He would have to bring him back. That was the only way. By the Maker’s grace, he had to convince him to come back. Else everything would be lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *angst* check  
> *ominous foreshadowing* check  
> *smut* ... shit. Next time, promise!


	28. Chapter 28

“Damn, he’s gone.” Straightening, Evelyn coughed at the smoke tickling her lungs. “Search the area. Maybe there’s something we can still use around here.” Immediately, her companions fanned out, carefully poking through the rubble to see what they could find. Beside her, Cullen trembled. His eyes were glassy and his skin ashen, the veins along his neck bulging under the strain from the red lyrium's haunting song that permeated every fiber of his being. “Cullen, we’ve got this part. Go wait outside.”

“I’m fine,” he spoke through gritted teeth, gripping his sword hilt tightly. “Don’t concern yourself over me.”

“I will always worry over you, foolish man,” she grumbled, turning away from him to continue the search in the scattered remains of the base.

“Got something! Maddox’s tools. Dagna should be able to recreate them, and possibly find a way to destroy Samson’s armor,” Dorian waved a clanking sack around his head.

“Fantastic. Let’s get out of here.”

The mood in camp that night was somber. Watching from atop a boulder as the last of Maddox’s funeral pyre burned away in the distance, Evelyn mourned by herself. For all the lives lost in this senseless war. The Conclave, Haven, the mages, the templars, the Grey Wardens, the innocents caught in the crossfire. It was too much. And the responsibility of all the remaining lives rested squarely on her head.

“Hey, Inquisitorialness?” Varric cautiously approached her rock. “Curly’s not looking so good. Figured you’d might want to check on him.”

“Thanks.” Sliding down to the soft sand, she quickly made her way back into camp, ducking into his tent. “Cullen?”

Armor was scattered across the floor, resting where the pieces had been dropped, entirely out of character for the meticulous soldier that he was. Sitting on the edge of his bedroll, Cullen’s head rested on his knee, every muscle in his body tensed and poised for battle still. Candlelight reflected faintly off of the thin sheen of sweat that covered his skin.

Summoning her mana, she quickly snuffed it back out when she saw him flinch at the tingle of magic in the air. “Sorry, sorry. What do you need?”

“I’m fine,” he rasped. 

“Bullshit. Hey,” kneeling at his side, she gently cupped his cheek, feeling the prickle of his stubble brush against her palm. “I’m here for you, Cullen. Let me help you. Please?”

It was the sweet pleading and desperation in her tone that broke him. Taking a deep, ragged breath, he mustered a wan smile, just for her. “I know you want to help, but really, all I need is time. You could stay with me. If you want,” he hastily amended, blushing in the dim tent. 

“Of course,” she beamed. Sliding over on his bedroll, he held the blanket open for her to slip inside. Evelyn reached for the hem of her shirt.

“No,” he grabbed her wrist. “Not that I don’t want to,” he kissed the hurt expression from her face. “But I can’t. Not like this. I would hurt you if I took your right now.”

“Control,” she murmured as she settled against the rough padding. “Alistair tried to explain a little of it to me. You feel like you’re losing control?”

Rubbing his face, Cullen was loathe to admit that yes, he did feel his grip on his state of mind slipping. It was such a tenuous thing, like trying to hold on to a wriggling eel on a storm tossed boat. But this was Evelyn. He loved her. He should be able to tell her anything, right? “Yes,” he whispered, feeling his skin burn with shame. “I’m sorry. I should be better than this.”

“And yet you haven’t collapsed into a raving lunatic yet, and run through the camp in nothing but your skivvies,” she tapped him on the tip of his nose. “You’re doing fine, Cullen.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” Trying to find a more comfortable position, Evelyn shifted around, burrowing the bedroll into a nest in the sand below. And brushed against his thigh, feeling the length of his rock hard erection pressed into her belly. Groaning at the friction, his hand gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

“Are you sure you don’t want to?” she whispered, arching into his touch.

“I can’t,” he panted, anguished and distraught. “I would hurt you. What I would do, what I need right now, I can’t do that to you. I don’t want to scare you.”

Briefly, she thought about it. A part of her doubted that he would ever hurt or frighten her, given his sweet, thoughtful nature. But behind his bright copper eyes tonight… Darkness lurked. Something visceral, feral, completely untamed. Bringing to mind that night with Kiyone, Evelyn recalled seeing the numerous scars and welts that laced her body, some still pink and fresh and barely scabbed over. And she realized. Kiyone had not been in battle for some time. There was nothing in the mage tower that could have caused those types of lacerations, only a blade or- or a whip could have made those marks. That would mean… Cullen. All of her healing wounds across her torso, back, and thighs must have been from him. Shivering, she nestled against his chest, pulling her hips away from his. “Kiyone. You need her for this, don’t you?”

“I…” There was no use in trying to hide it. It was what it was. “I do. She would enjoy it. I’m afraid that you wouldn’t,” he muttered.

Evelyn sighed. “You’re probably right. I can’t imagine… Well. This just means we’ll have to ride harder for Skyhold, get you there faster.”

“You would-” he licked his lips, trying to comprehend what she was saying. “You don’t mind?”

“I said I wanted to try this with all of you, didn’t I?” Delicately, she smoothed back an errant lock of hair from his brow. “And you need her. I can’t give you this, but she can. So no, I don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, feeling himself collapse against the sand in a rush of relief. “I know I don’t deserve this, or you, but thank you.”

“You deserve the world, Cullen. The least I can do is ensure your happiness, just as you do for me.” 

Still holding her in his arms, he smiled and closed his eyes. It took several hours before he finally relaxed enough to drop into a restless slumber, and even longer for her to find sleep. Unable to ignore the sense of unease that floated just out of reach, Evelyn studied his face, still tense and drawn even now. What would it actually be like, to watch him with another woman? Yes, she said that she wanted to try a relationship with the three of them, but reality was much, much different. Could she handle it? Kiyone had said that Alistair’s pleasure was her own. Maybe if she focused on it like that… Cullen needed Kiyone. For what Evelyn couldn’t give him. She would have to just accept that.

 _I just accept him, because I love him._ Alistair was right. She loved him, and that meant all of him, including the darkness within. She could do this. She had to, or she would have to let him go, and she wasn’t sure if she would survive that now that she knew what it was like to have him next to her. To have him smile in that way that he reserved just for her. To have him kiss her like he was drowning, and she was his air. To have him hold her like he was terrified she might slip out of his grasp. She would have to embrace it.

*** 

“Cullen, can I stay and watch?”

Blinking in surprise, he glanced over at her from where he rode astride his horse. Skyhold loomed just ahead in the distance, floating among the clouds high in the sky, like some castle out of legend. Soon, he would be home. “Er. Are you sure you want to? I can’t imagine it would be that pleasant to watch, if it’s not your thing,” he frowned.

“I want to,” Evelyn insisted. “I have to know if this is something that I could ever do. I need to see.”

Reaching up to rub the ache in his neck into submission, Cullen sighed. This could be a potential disaster. “Alright. Alistair might come as well.” He could at least distract her if things became too intense for her. Although, that might not be the best idea either. Not that the Warden had ever mentioned his dislike of Kiyone’s marks, but he had seen how his blue eyes grew just a bit more icy, how his lips curled down by the barest fraction as his hands skimmed a particularly angry, raised welt across her back through her dress.

“Okay.” Finally, after what seemed like ages, hooves rang out against the cobbled stone bridge, the sound of iron grinding against iron echoing through the valley as the gate was raised. “Go and do what you need to do, meet in my room tonight?”

“Of course.” Stowing his bag behind the desk, Cullen flipped through the massive pile of correspondence that awaited him, feeling his headache return with a vengeance at the sheer number of report stacked ever so neatly. A bath. A bath would help clear his mind until tonight. Stripping down to his tunic and cotton breeches, he jogged down to the lowest level of the keep where the bathhouse was. It was empty this time of the afternoon, save for one tub at the back, a familiar freckled leg dangling over the edge.

“You’re back!” Alistair waved. “And in one piece. Kiyone will be pleased. She’s been under the weather these past few days, so this will cheer her up.”

“Am I in one piece?” he groaned. “It doesn’t feel like it.” Reaching over to unplug the spigot in the wall, Cullen stared at the water rushing into the copper basin.

“Here,” tossing a fire rune in, Alistair squinted up. “Bad trip?”

“Red lyrium, it was everywhere. Maker, I-” The rest of what he was about to say fizzled out of his brain as Alistair stood up, water sluicing down his naked body. Crossing the small space between their tubs, he hopped into Cullen’s and tugged on his hand. 

“Get in.”

“Someone might see, Alistair! I can’t just-”

“No one ever comes in here at this time. It’s why I always do. Now, get in,” he yanked again insistently.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen grumbled even as he obeyed. “Alistair, what are you- ooh.” Large hands grasped his shoulders and began digging into the knots at the base of his neck. Hissing, his knuckles tightened on the edge of the tub, trying to remember to breathe through the pain.

Humming under his breath, Alistair slowly worked his way over the rest of his shoulders and back, smoothing out the tender muscles. Eventually, Cullen became painfully aware of the firm, wet bulk of the man behind him, of his legs wrapped around his sides, and of the growing hardness at the small of his back. “So, I’m guessing you need Ki tonight?”

“If she’s up for it. Ah… Evelyn said she wants to watch. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Cullen admitted. It was getting harder and harder to ignore his own rising desire, bobbing just below the surface. 

“Does she know exactly what she’s going to be watching?” he asked incredulously. “I mean, I’m not even sure I’d want to watch. Is it going to be like that last time when I was with Evelyn?”

“Probably,” Cullen muttered as shame slowly crept in. Was this all wrong? “I… was going to ask if you would come as well, perhaps distract her in case things proved to be a bit much, but if you don’t want to…”

Silence. Alistair’s hands fell into the water, his head leaned against the rim of the tub. “No. I will, if you need me there. It’s just- I saw her back after she came back that night. I was angry. Furious. But she, she likes it, so who am I to judge?” Shrugging, he sat back up and began washing Cullen’s hair.

“You know that if she showed even the slightest bit of discomfort, I would stop, right?” His voice was low and earnest, begging Alistair to understand.

“I know, darling. I know. And only because it’s you, I don’t freak out as much as I could,” he chuckled. “I know you love her.” Standing up, Alistair grabbed the bucket from the floor and unceremoniously dumped water over Cullen’s head, rinsing the last of the soap from the spluttering man. “There! All clean.”

Cullen sprang out of the tub. “Arse.” Throwing a towel at him, Alistair just smirked.

“Ah. You going to do something about that before tonight? Otherwise you might burst, quite literally.” He motioned down, staring unabashedly at the Commander’s massive erection, the head proud and already tinged with purple.

“Are you?” Cullen retorted, rubbing his hair vigorously.

With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Alistar advanced on the other man, until Cullen’s back was pressed against the wall. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.” And he sank to his knees.

“I was just kidding, you don’t have to-” Helplessly, his head hit the damp stone behind him, his hands grappling against the wall for purchase to help keep his balance. Warm lips closed around his girth as a firm tongue gently flicked along the shaft. He was so hard that this was almost painful. “Maker, Alistair,” Cullen panted.

“Hmm?” His hum sent the sweetest vibrations straight into his toes, curling against the wet floor. Reaching out, Cullen grabbed a fistful of damp hair turned to deep russet from the water and torchlight. Alistair moaned and released his throbbing cock, ducking his head lower to tenderly draw one of his tight balls into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh before attending to the other while his hand continued to stroke his shaft.

It was heaven and the Void, all in one exquisitely tortured package. “Ali, I can’t- please,” he begged. It was strange, to be the one pleading for mercy. It should frighten him, especially given his previous state of mind. But all he could feel was pleasure and pressure, building to an incredible finale just under the surface of his skin. And beneath it all, complete and utter trust in this man before him, and love. So much love, it hurt to even breathe.

Releasing his balls, Alistair moved his focus back up and began sucking with renewed vigor, his head bobbing with each thrust, his tongue slurping with each lick. Tangling his long fingers in his scruffy hair, Cullen slowed him down. Not yet. He wanted this to last longer, savor every second. Holding his head still, he slowly thrust in and out of Alistair’s mouth, caressing his cheek with his free hand. His eyes were as dark as his own right now, only a thin band of brilliant, sky blue ringing irises black as night.

“I love you.”

Alistair made a sound that might have been agreement, or protest as the tip of Cullen’s cock jabbed harshly at the back of his throat. He swallowed, the muscles constricting around his length. Moaning, Cullen sped up, relishing in the feel of Alistair’s fingers digging roughly into his hairy thighs, his lips and tongue bringing him closer, closer.

Gasping for even the smallest amount of air to steal into his deprived lungs, Cullen felt a shudder wrack his entire frame, the wave of his orgasm slamming into him like a ton of granite. Now gripping onto Alistair just to keep him upright, he groaned as he watched himself come into his lover’s mouth, his creamy spend dribbling down his chin, throat bobbing as he attempted to swallow as much as he was able.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen gasped. Sagging against the wall, he felt strong arms catch him before his knees gave out from under him.

“Liked that, did you?” Alistair smirked.

“You’ve got a bit of something there,” he murmured, reaching out to wipe a drop of his seed from the corner of his lips. “Do you want me to…?”

“No, this was for you, my dear,” pressing his chest against Cullen’s, Alistair captured his lips in a slow, tender kiss, Cullen’s brain threatening to shut down again at the taste of himself on his tongue. With great effort, Alistair pulled away and grabbed his clothes. “Come on. Let’s go find Ki.”

Pulling him back for another searing kiss before they left the bathing chambers, Cullen smiled down at his lover. “I am a lucky man.”

“Yes, you are,” Alistair grinned. Together they stepped out in the brisk spring air, the chill feeling like heaven against their sweaty, flushed skin. Pushing the door to their room open, he glanced around. “Ki? I brought you a present. A present who wants to tie you up and fuck your brains out.”

“Alistair!”

“What? Just being honest.” He stopped short. This was odd. The fire was burning low, unusual for his cold-blooded half lizard wife, as he liked to tease her, and her usual blanket was left draped on the couch. Was she even here? No, her boots were still there, by the front door, as was her cloak. “Kiyone? Are you in here?”

“Maybe she stepped out?” Cullen suggested.

“No, she doesn’t leave without her cloak ever, except in the middle of summer. Is she taking a nap?” No, the bed was empty, as was the bathing chamber they rarely used, as neither of them liked to ask the servants to haul water up here just for them. “I don’t understand.” Then he heard it, a faint scratching sound against the stone floor. Stepping back into the bedroom, he finally found her, curled up on the floor in the darkest corner of the room. Racing over to her, his knees hit the ground as he fell before her. “Shh, shh, I’m here, I’m here. What’s wrong, love?”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, her eyes already swollen and red from crying for Maker knew how long. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Cullen knelt by her other side and brushed back a wet lock of hair. “Talk to us, Ki.”

With a heart wrenching wail, her head fell against her knees, her entire body shaking violently. In all their years together, Alistair had never seen her this upset, this desolate and tormented. It terrified him. “Please, sweetling, tell me what’s wrong. I won’t be mad, I swear. Just tell me. Please?”

Shaking her head, Kiyone continued to sob with her face hidden from them, until both men were at a loss of what to do. So they did what they could and sat with her, one on each side, arms wrapped securely around her like a barrier to guard her against whatever thoughts were plaguing her. Eventually, her cries stilled, replaced with the occasional sniffle and hiccup. Still, they waited, Alistair’s fingers playing in her hair, Cullen rubbing soothing circles into her back.

Sighing, she sat up, pointedly avoiding both of their faces. Wiping her nose for the millionth time against her shirt, one last tremor wracked her body.

“I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized all of my OCs hate the cold, because I do. It's 76F where I live right now in the desert (American southwest) and I love it. I get cold below 65. I swear I'm part lizard. 120 degree summers can go fuck itself though.


	29. Chapter 29

Alistair’s world crashed down around him with those simple words. Everything froze, a vortex caught between time. His body, his brain, his lungs. _Pregnant. A baby. Kiyone._

“What?” Cullen croaked.

“I confirmed it, just after you left for your bath,” she whispered. “Probably about two months along. Ali… We’re having a baby.”

In hindsight, he should have not said what he did. Or at least he should have had the sense to keep his damn mouth shut. But when had his mouth ever really listened to his brain? “No, we’re not.” 

Her eyes jerked to his, fresh tears sparkling against her lashes. “Ali…”

“You know it’s not mine,” he snapped bitterly. “It’s _his_.” Scrabbling to his feet, Alistair turned away. “I need some air. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Alistair!” Ignoring the agony lancing through her voice, he stomped out of their room, desperate to get away, far, far away. 

Kiyone dissolved into a fresh wave of sobs, the pain in her chest too much to bear. Gritting his teeth, Cullen resisted the urge to go tearing after the other man and punch him in his face for abandoning her when she was this vulnerable, but he couldn’t leave her alone, not like this. “You’re freezing, Ki. Let’s get you warm.”

Carefully, as if she were made of porcelain, he lifted her up in his arms, carrying her back into the living room and tucking her into the blanket on the couch. Sitting back on his heels, he finished stoking the fire back to life, staring into the flames as if they could give him the answers he needed. “It still might be his.”

“It might,” she said softly, so quietly he had to strain to listen. “But it’s unlikely. The taint… I only just started taking witherstalk when we arrived here. All the years before, it never happened. Only now.”

“But if you were taking the herb, then-”

“It’s not foolproof. There’s always a chance. We should have been smarter, we should have been more careful. Now he hates me, and- I can’t do this without him, Cullen. I can’t!” Collapsing again, Cullen held her tightly as she sobbed into his shirt. 

What was he going to do? He couldn’t be a father. What kind of role model would he be, a former templar and recovering lyrium addict? Alistair would be so much better at this than he. And, oh sweet Andraste. What would Evelyn say when she found out? Everything between them was still so new, and to spring this on her…

But it didn’t matter anymore, did it? No, he had to do this. Take responsibility. For the life he helped created. Possibly create. Regardless of how Evelyn reacted, or how much of an ass Alistair wanted to be. Kiyone needed him, as did the babe. _The babe. I’m going to be a father._ It was surreal. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch her stomach.

“It’s like the size of half a grain of rice,” she snorted. “You won’t feel anything for awhile.”

“I know, I’m just trying to wrap my head around the whole thing,” he murmured.

“Me too,” she sighed. “So what now?”

“Depends on if your husband wants to stop being a dick or not. Either way, I’m not going anywhere, Ki. I promise you,” he pressed his lips to her forehead. He tried to ignore the rush of heat her body sent down his as she snuggled in closer. Everything was spiraling out of his hands now. Control over his life, slipping out of his fingers with every breath he took. More than ever, he needed her, but now- She was pregnant. He couldn’t do those things anymore to her. No matter how much he wanted to. There had to be a better way.

“What about Evelyn?”

Rubbing his face, Cullen shrugged. “It’ll be up to her. This is more important.”

“I’m so sorry, Cullen. I never meant for this to happen. Now I’ve gone and ruined everything.” More tears dripped down onto the blanket below.

“Hey, this isn’t your fault, okay?” Wiping her face, Cullen tugged her closer. “I’m assuming you didn’t set out to get pregnant,” she shook her head, “And I believe last time I checked, it took two people to make a baby. I don’t blame you.”

“Alistair does,” she whimpered.

“No, I don’t think so. If I know that man at all, he’s blaming himself right now.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” The crackle of the fire was soothing to them both, cozy and warm and cuddled up together, and for a split second, it almost felt like everything would be okay. Almost. Kiyone squeezed her eyes shut. _Maybe this was all just one big mistake. Maybe we should have never gotten involved like this, shut it down when feelings started coming into play._ His fingers intertwined with hers. But she loved him. Craved him. He was her anchor to reality, the balm to her untethered soul. And Alistair… He was the other half of her heart. “How am I supposed to do this without him?”

“He’ll come around, Ki,” he assured her, trying to put all of his conviction behind his words. And failed. Her sweet Cullen, trying so hard to cheer her up when his own world was burning around him. _Please let Evelyn be okay with this. Please, please for his sake. He deserves at least that_. “Will you be okay by yourself for a bit?” She nodded. “You can always stay with me tonight, if you’d like.”

“No, I should stay here. Just in case…” Just in case he came back to her.

“Alright,” kissing her once more, Cullen stood up. “Have you eaten? I’ll bring by some food in a bit. I need to go find Evelyn.”

“Good luck,” Kiyone replied softly. He just smiled at her. Even as distraught as she was, nose red and dripping, she was still gorgeous. The mother of his child. Potential child. No matter what, he would not give up hope that Alistair was the father. Not unless the babe came out with a full head of curly blonde hair. Which was unlikely, given Kiyone’s complexion.

Stopping a passing servant, Cullen found out that the Inquisitor had left her room and was last seen heading to the tavern. With his heart pounding in his throat, he slowly descended the stairs into the courtyard. Only to see her. Walking towards him.

“I’m guessing tonight is off, then? Given the state of Alistair,” she asked bemusedly.

“His state? What is he doing?”

“Trying to drink all the alcohol in Skyhold, apparently.”

“Oh, for the love of-” Pushing past her, Cullen stomped into the busy tavern, immediately finding his lover slumped over a table, a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hands. “Are you drunk already? You’ve only been down here for not even an hour!”

“Shut up, I don’t need you,” Alistair sneered. “She does. So leave me alone.”

“Stop being a child.” Grabbing the other man, Cullen yanked him to his feet. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I won’t!” Evelyn stared in shock along with the rest of the tavern as she watched her Commander wrestle the inebriated leader of the Grey Wardens into submission on the grimy floor, pinning his wrists behind his back.

“I swear I will break your arm, Theirin. We are leaving here. _Now_.”

“Why,” Alistair spat. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t matter anymore. The one thing she wanted and I couldn’t give her, but you did. She doesn’t need me. Probably should just leave, let you marry-”

Cullen’s fist cracked into Alistair’s jaw, and with a groan, he collapsed like a rag doll on the floor. “Fuck, he has a hard face,” rubbing his hand, he hefted the other man onto his shoulders. “Pardon us.” Ignoring all the whispers that followed him out, Cullen carried the unconscious man back into his office high on the battlements, locking all the doors, save one that Evelyn flung open.

“What in the Maker’s name is going on here?!”

Dumping Alistair on the small sofa in the corner of the room, Cullen leaned back against his chest and heaved a deep sigh. There was no easy way to say this. “Kiyone is pregnant,” he said bluntly. “The Grey Warden taint makes it almost impossible to conceive. So there is a high probability that it is mine.”

Evelyn stood there in stunned silence, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She felt… Well, she wasn’t quite sure yet. Upset? Angry? Didn’t they know this could happen?

“She was taking witherstalk, but…” he shrugged halfheartedly. 

“How is she?” Cullen raised his eyebrows in surprise. Of all the things he expected her to say, inquiring after the well-being of the mother of her lover’s child was not one of them.

“Terrified, as expected. She’s blaming herself for everything. Including his sorry arse,” with a rude gesture towards the drooling man in his office, Cullen snorted. “Talking utter nonsense. Are- are you okay? With this?” he asked hopefully.

“I don’t know, Cullen,” she shook her head. “I- I need time to think, to process it. I… What are you going to do?”

“Be there for her, help raise the babe, especially if he won’t,” he replied firmly. “I won’t abandon her.”

“Yes, but- Where does that leave us? How will you explain it to the others? If the Commander is raising the child of a woman that is married to another man? And not just any man, a Theirin of Ferelden and Grey Warden? People will talk. About you, about her, about him. About me, if I stay with you. I can’t afford that kind of scrutiny right now. The Inquisition can’t afford it,” she finished wearily. It felt as if she aged another decade in the last ten minutes. It was too much to hope, she realized, that this would end well. That kind of happiness didn’t exist for people like her.

“I understand,” he murmured. The anguish in his eyes seared her heart straight through, her very bones melting from the misery in his voice. “I had hoped… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

Helplessly, she threw her hands up in the air. “I don’t know what you expected to happen, Cullen.”

“A miracle,” he sighed despondently. “He’s waking up.”

“I’ll leave you to it. Commander,” her voice finally broke on the last word, the numbness in her brain giving way to heartache.

“Inquisitor,” he replied softly. She couldn’t look at him anymore. He burned too brightly; it was like staring at the midday sun. With a quiet sob, she spun around and fled his office. Leaving him alone with the drunk idiot. Grabbing a chair, Cullen set it in front of the sofa to wait.

It took a minute for his foggy head to understand where he was, unfocused eyes darting back and forth before alighting on Cullen’s face. Scowling, Alistair sat up, wobbling in place. “What.”

“You’re upset, I get it. So am I. And so is your wife,” Cullen answered as calmly as he could muster. “You told her you wouldn’t be mad at her. Then you left her, when she needed you the most. You’re a fucking coward, Theirin.”

“I’m not mad at her,” he snapped. “I’m- pissed as hell at myself, for allowing this. At my taint, for preventing me from giving her what she wanted. Oh, she told me before that kids weren’t a big deal to her, but I’ve seen her, especially recently. Watching the other littles run around the keep. The pregnant women with their giant bellies. I see the pain in her eyes, and I know, I _know_ how much she wanted a family of her own. But she never mentioned it. And now today, when it should have been an excited, joyous occasion, she spent it crying hysterically because she was afraid. It’s not fair.”

“And you ran out on her,” Cullen reminded him flatly. Again.

“What was I supposed to do?!” Leaping to his feet, Alistair began to pace. “Pretend like I was happy? That my wife is having a child with another man? Another man that I asked her to be with because I wanted it? This is all because of me. My selfishness. Maker, what have I done?” Dropping to the cold stone floor, he hunched over as a few tears slipped free, splattering in the dust.

Resting a hand on his back, Cullen pulled on his shoulder. “There’s no use in assigning blame. What’s done is done. The question is, what are you going to do? She needs you. She’s terrified of doing this without you. But if you won’t be there for her, I sure as hell will. I love her, Alistair. And so do you.”

“What about Evelyn,” he whispered.

“She… The Inquisitor has decided that she cannot afford a scandal with the nobility at the moment,” Cullen muttered stiffly, trying to ignore the growing hole in his heart. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

The sounds of the outside world drifted farther away the longer the two men sat there, staring at each other on the floor, a few scattered sunbeams from the setting sun shining through the western windows. This was all a mess. How did they go from being so happy, all of them together, to this? Fractured, scattered, walls back in place. Screaming in the depths of their mind, cursing the fates, control slipping through their hands like tiny grains of sand. Would they ever be okay again? Was it possible to come out of this intact?

“I need to get back to her. She hasn’t eaten yet, and she needs food.”

“For the baby,” Alistair muttered.

“And for her own health,” Cullen gently chided him. “Will you take it, or shall I?”

The shattered look in Alistair’s eyes broke him. “Does she even want to see me?”

“She does,” he replied resolutely.

“Fine. I’ll take a tray up.” He was numb. Completely incapable of any further reaction. Shuffling his feet, he barely knew where he was headed, relying on muscle memory to carry him into the kitchen and beg a tray from the cooks. Luckily, his feet knew where to go, taking the familiar path up the stairs to their room. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. And another. The last time he had been this nervous was…

The day he asked her to marry him. He could still see the way her eyes sparkled as she said yes, her bright laugh ringing in his memory. Their vows. He vowed to her that she would never be alone. Cullen was right. He was a coward. Maybe it was better this way, if he left her. Cullen would be there for her, right? He would love her. But the tidal wave of pure agony that swamped him at the thought of being separated from her told him it would never work. It would literally kill him to walk away. And, if he were being honest with himself, it would kill her as well. Their greatest fear was mutual- losing each other. And so, he knocked.

“Come in.”

Kiyone straightened as she saw him hesitantly creep through the door. “Um, hi,” he muttered sheepishly. “I brought you food.”

“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely. Setting the tray on the table, Alistair fidgeted with the fork for a moment.

“I broke my promise to you.”

“What?”

“Our wedding vow. I swore I would never leave you alone. And I did.”

“No, you didn’t break your vow,” she murmured. “You said I would never be alone again. Technically, Cullen stayed. So I wasn’t alone.”

“That doesn’t really help,” he grumbled.

“I know.” Turning around on the sofa, she rested her head against the high back. “What do I need to do, Ali? Tell me. What can I do to make you stay with me?”

“What can you do?” He blinked incredulously. “This isn’t your fault, Ki, it’s mine. You didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m- I’m not leaving you. I can’t. It would be the death of me to walk away from you, even though it would be for the best. I’m a selfish man. I couldn’t bear it.”

“The best?!” she demanded. “You think leaving me would be for the best?!” Leaping out of the chair, she stalked over to where he stood, paralyzed and suddenly terrified. “Alistair Theirin, you are a fucking idiot if you think leaving me is the right thing to do. I cannot do this without you. I need you in my life like I always have, even more so now. You are my god damned stupid fucking husband, and I- I love you,” her voice broke. “Please don’t go. Please,” she begged.

Throwing his arms around her, Alistair felt his own tears soaking into her hair. “I’m not leaving, I swear, I swear. I can’t. Even though I don’t know how to be a father. I don’t even really know what fathers do, you know? I mean, I saw the other dads with their kids, but I never had that. What if I’m completely rubbish at it? Cullen would be a great dad. Much better than me.”

“He will be. And so will you. You think I know how to be a mother?” she laughed breathlessly. “We’ll make it up as we go. Together.”

“Together.” It was with a desperate, frantic urgency that their lips crashed together, burning with the need to be as close as humanly possible and reaffirm their commitment to one another, hands ripping at clothes, fabric flying across the room. Wasting no time, Alistair gripped his length and slid inside of her in one smooth, tight stroke, groaning as her familiar warmth surrounded him.

No words were spoken as they slid against each other, only gasping moans and broken cries filling the small room, tugging each other closer, deeper, further in. She was his home. No matter what, he couldn’t be without her. Her smile, her laugh, the way she teased him, how she loved him. And Cullen. The stubborn, audacious, rude man that he was.

“I see she forgave your ridiculousness.” Cullen smirked at the couple from the doorway, twirling the key to the room in his hand.

“Cullen,” Alistair reached out a hand for him. “Come here.” Willingly, he crossed the room to where they stood, throwing his clothes down onto the floor before pulling Kiyone away from the table. He pressed his chest to her back. As one, they stumbled to the rug in front of the fire, Alistair reclining on his back, still deep inside of his wife.

“Maker,” Cullen breathed. The urge for his sadist desires from earlier had curiously faded throughout the day, leaving only a heavy warmth deep in his bones. Even on a day like today. Grasping the base of his heavy cock, he slowly slid it against where they were joined, rubbing Alistair’s length and her slick folds, coating himself with Kiyone’s nectar.

“Oh, sweet Maker,” Alistair groaned. “That feels like heaven.”

Grunting his agreement, Cullen thrusted slowly a few more times, until the urge to be inside of her was overwhelming. Adding a liberal dollop of his own saliva, he slowly began to press inside of her rear entrance, Alistair rubbing the sides of her waist soothingly.

“That’s it, love, relax. You are absolutely beautiful like this, do you know that?” Flushed and grasping for stability, Kiyone hissed at the sweet burn threatening to consume her whole as Cullen bottomed out. “Fuck, yes,” Alistair moaned. “Cullen, can you imagine this in a few more months? How she’s going to look with her belly swollen and heavy?”

The mere thought of it stole his breath away. Her body. Pregnant and ripe with _his_ child. Skin alight with that rosy glow, breasts fuller in his hands than what filled them now. He never even dared to dream. Pinching one of her nipples roughly, he turned her head back to his to swallow her cries. “She’ll be even more beautiful than she is now, if that’s even possible,” Cullen whispered against her skin.

Bracing herself against her husband’s shoulders, she allowed the earlier worries of her day to briefly fade away, chief among them thoughts of Evelyn. This is what she needed right now. Both of her men, inside of her, pushing all of them to the edge, closer together. If she had them, she could do anything. Like raise a child. Have a family.

“Come for us sweetheart,” rasping into her ear, Cullen pressed her hips down until she was grinding her clit against Alistair’s pelvis. Rolling against their girths, stretching her into bliss, she frantically sped up her movements, both of the men stilling as they encouraged her to use them to seek her own pleasure.

Everything was different now. Instead of them giving, she was taking. They were letting her lead. Nothing made sense anymore. And yet, it felt the same. Their solid bulk surrounding her, the drag of their cocks inside of her, familiar hands holding her steady.

Her shattered cry broke through their soft murmurs, all of her muscles clamping down around them. “That’s it, love,” Alistair groaned. He was done for. All of the tension of the day came flooding out of him at one from his spasming balls, bursting into her already filled womb. Panting his release, he gripped her hips tighter for Cullen, holding her in place as the other man’s thrusts sped up, chasing his own end.

“Maker,” Cullen gasped, collapsing against her back. His own seed was slowly dribbling down the crack of her ass. “I needed that.”

“I think we all did,” Alistair chuckled. “Ki?”

“I’m okay,” she mumbled into his sweaty chest. “Just a tad overwhelmed.” Pulling apart, they all came back together after they cleaned up, curling up together on the floor, Kiyone sitting in Cullen’s lap, her head resting on Alistair’s thigh. “Cullen? Did you tell Evelyn?”

“I did.” From his dull, exhausted tone, she instantly knew how it went. Her heart crumbled just a little bit more than it already had for that day.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I made my choice,” he rubbed her legs, his smile barely falling short of his eyes. “And she made hers.” The silence that followed wasn’t the comfortable emptiness they were used to, but filled with a deep, aching sorrow for what their lover had lost instead. So of course, Alistair broke the tension in the most tactful way possible.

“If the baby comes out scowling, at least we’ll know it’s Cullen’s for sure.”

“And if it comes out cracking terrible jokes, it’s yours.” The men glared at each other until Kiyone reached up to smack them both lightly against the cheek.

“You two, I swear. What would I do without you?”

“Lord Warden Theirin?” A messenger called out from behind the locked door, his knocks reverberating through the quiet chamber.

“What?” Alistair yelled irritably.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

“Tell them to go away!”

“It’s Arl Eamon, my lord. He says you know him.”

Two pairs of eyes turned to stare at Alistair, his face paralyzed with an all consuming dread.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama overlooooad. O_o.
> 
> Thought this was going to be about 35 chapters, but things feel super rushed towards the end so I might rewrite some things, so updates may slow down as I tinker away. This story may be 95% smut, but I'd like for the 5% of plot to make sense :p


	30. Chapter 30

Kiyone watched as Alistair paced the length of their room fretfully, muttering an impressive string of expletives under his breath that was reminiscent of their time in the Kirkwall slums. Cullen had slipped out just a few moments before, giving the couple time to prepare.

“Why is he here himself? What does he want?”

“You won’t know until you meet with him, love. Um. It would probably be best if you put on pants, though. And a shirt. I mean, I definitely don’t mind the view, but he might.” Glancing down at his nudity, Alistair shrugged.

“I should go down there like this. Would serve him right.” Yet he still walked into their bedroom, grabbing a clean pair of breeches and one of his old, worn tunics. Frowning at the ratty shirt in his hands, he sighed and carefully put it back, selecting instead one of his newer embroidered shirts that the ambassador had made for him after he had been promoted to captain of the Grey Wardens. “How do I look?”

“Devastatingly handsome.” Her skirts swirled around her ankle as she crossed the room to where he stood, wishing she could take away his agitation and soothe that haunted, forlorn look in his eyes. “I’m here, love.”

“I know,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. “Today’s been one hell of a day, huh.”

“The universe is out to get us,” she smiled. “Good thing we can take it.”

Taking strength from her small hand in his, Alistair braced himself as they descended the stairs into the main hall. He would have recognized the old Arl’s figure anywhere, back proud and straight, hands clasped lightly behind his back as he inclined his head in conversation with Evelyn.

Alistair approached the man from behind. “Uncle,” he greeted the back of his head, voice crisp and proper.

Turning around, Eamon’s face softened at the sight of his old ward. “Alistair,” he replied softly. “It’s good to see you, lad. Although not so much a lad anymore, it seems.” 

“Oh I don’t know about that,” he shrugged blithely. “Ah. Allow me to introduce my wife, Kiyone Theirin.” Alistair was right. The expression on the old man’s face was priceless. Eamon’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, the corner of his mouth twitching as he attempted to rein in his words. Kiyone merely smiled graciously up at the noble, dropping into her best curtsey.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Arl Guerrin.”

“Ah, yes, honor.” He cleared his throat. “Alistair, is there somewhere we can talk in private? Just the two of us?”

Alistair frowned, his grip on his wife’s hand tightening. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of Kiyone as well.”

“Love, it’s okay,” she murmured.

“Are you sure?” He didn’t like this. Not one bit.

“It’ll be fine,” her smile was calm, relaxing the tension coiling inside of him somewhat. Exhaling a deep breath, he nodded.

“Alright. This way, Uncle. There are some rooms that are used for meetings over here.” Leading him to a side hallway, Alistair pushed open a random door, checking to ensure that it was empty before ushering Eamon in. It was nothing fancy, just a small chamber with a single table, four chairs, and a side table with a pitcher of water and glasses. Filling two cups, he set them on the table and leaned against the windowsill. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Is that the same woman from Kirkwall? Teagan mentioned her. Rather protective of you back then, he said,” Eamon said nonchalantly.

Alistair felt his heart swell with that knowledge. His sweet love, his precious heart. _And vicious defender_ , he grinned to himself. “Yes. We were married back in 37.”

“Pretty girl,” he murmured. “I don’t suppose she’s nobility, is she?”

“Not a whit. Why are you here?” His gaze was impassive as he stared down at the man, taking in the fact that his velvet clad shoulders had slumped slightly since entering the room.

Sighing, Eamon took a long drink of water. “It’s Anora. She’s ill. And still barren. You heard, I assume, that she married recently?”

“Some noble from the Free Marches, right?”

“Yes. If she dies, without an heir, the people will not accept a foreign king on the throne. We’d be facing another civil war without a legitimate contender to-”

“ _No_.”

“Alistair, please, just-”

“Tell me, what would happen to Kiyone if I accepted?”

Eamon raised his eyes to meet the younger’s man intense gaze. “That would be… up to the Landsmeet.”

“She is my _wife_. There would be no way in heaven or the Void I would ever set her aside, do you understand me?” Alistair demanded. His very blood boiled at the sheer audacity of the imposition. “Ferelden be damned. Not like my country ever gave a shit about me anyways.” Resting his head against the cool wall, he shook his head. “So this is why you came. Not to make amends, like Teagan said you wanted to do, but because you needed me. Not even me. My blood,” he sneered.

“No, I-" Rubbing his temples, Eamon sighed heavily. “I did want to apologize. The way I treated you when you were a child, I… I should not have sent you away. I swore to your father that I would protect and nurture you, and instead, I sent you away, for my own weakness. For that, I will always be regretful. I wanted to tell you that the last time you came to Redcliffe, but… I was a coward,” he said simply. “I understand if you never forgive me for it. But I am sorry. For everything.”

For a moment, Alistair lost himself in the past. He could still vividly remember the day the templars came for him, the fear and panic in his young heart. How Isolde had triumphantly smirked at him from the top of the castle stairs, a younger Eamon refusing to answer his pleas or even acknowledge his presence. Just tossing him out of the only home he had ever known, as if he was nothing. “I thought you hated me. It wasn’t until Solona found my old amulet that I began to suspect otherwise.”

“Ah, yes, Solona Amell,” Eamon frowned at the name. “Have you heard from her since the Landsmeet?”

Alistair eyes widened in incredulity. “You’re joking, right? You must be. Why would I ever talk to that harpy ever again? After what she did to Duncan’s memory? The only real father figure I’ve ever known?”

“I wish I could go back in time and fix things. I really do.”

“You’re not the only one,” he mumbled. Cautiously, he watched as Eamon slowly stood up from the wooden table, pushing his chair back.

“I plan on staying a few days. See what this Inquisition is doing with my own eyes, and perhaps offer my help. Maker knows they’re veritably crawling all over my lands right now. Just… think about what I said? Ferelden can hardly afford another war right now, not after the mage-templar war practically decimated the Hinterlands, and rifts and demons covering the country. We’re primed for another invasion if that happens, not to mention the threat of famine. As for your wife- If you don’t agree with the Landsmeet decision, you don’t have to accept. I will understand, even if the nobility do not. True love is a rare thing,” he smiled sadly. “And you of all people deserve whatever happiness you can find.”

 _Well, that was unexpected_ , Alistair blinked as Eamon left the room. He had not been expecting his adoptive uncle to understand. Demand him to return? Yes. Order him to fulfill his birthright? Certainly. But that? _King. I don’t want to be the fucking king_ , he grimaced. _Nobles and politics every day of my life. And Ki-_ It was a moot point anyways. The Landsmeet would never accept her as queen, a mage and commoner. And he would never set her aside. Then again, if they were as desperate as Eamon insinuated…

Whatever the case was, he needed to talk to her. Lifting his head up, he heard the faint creak of hinges as the door swung open. “Um, hi. I saw him leave. You okay?”

Holding out his hands, he smiled over at his wife. “Come here.” Closing the door softly behind her, she immediately went to him, snuggling into his chest as he wrapped her up in a tight embrace. “He actually apologized, for sending me to the Chantry. I didn’t expect that.”

“He came all the way here for that?” Her voice sounded impressed, albeit slightly muffled by his shirt. “That was nice. I told you he still cared for you.”

“That’s not all. He wants me to come back. To Denerim. To possibly be king.”

Pulling back slightly, she watched his face carefully. “What?”

Alistair's grimace pulled back his handsome features into an expression of frustrated and distraught confliction. “Anora is sick, and her husband, technically Prince-Consort, I believe his title is, is not Ferelden. If she dies without an heir, Ferelden is looking at another civil war. Unless someone with a viable claim to the throne steps forward.”

“You.”

“Me.”

He could see the thoughts churning in her sharp mind as a wall slammed into place behind her eyes. “That’s, um,” she made to take a step back.

Holding her firmly in place, he forced her to look at him so she could see the intent and honesty in his face. “I’m not leaving you, Ki. If they want me, they’ll have to take you as well. I swear to you, I will not do this without you by my side.”

“I can’t be a queen, Ali,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

“You’d be a much better queen than I would be as king,” he replied dryly. 

“No, you’d be perfect.” Lifting one of her hands to his chest, she drew distracted swirling lines against his shoulder. 

Pressing his lips to her hair, he murmured gently, “We have a few days to think about it. Eamon is staying awhile. We wouldn’t begin ruling immediately, there would be lessons on politics and issues of the state and how to eat fancy and how to not start an international war in five syllables or less before anything happened. And it’s possible the Landsmeet wouldn’t even accept us. Or Anora might get better, and they wouldn’t need us at all.”

“And if we don’t go, and she does die, then there will be another war?”

“It’s a very strong possibility. Eamon has the highest chance of becoming king, but he’s married to an Orlesian. Or Teryn Cousland, but he also remarried an Orlesian I believe. The other nobility won’t like that.”

“What is with all the nobles and Orlesians,” she snorted. 

“Bad breeding?” he chuckled. “I suppose I should be thankful that my mother was a simple commoner and spared me the horrors of being attracted to Orlesians.”

“No,” she laughed, “You just got a random woman who fell out of the sky.”

“Works for me,” he grinned, gently thumbing the dark circles under her eyes. “Come on, it’s past our bedtime. Let’s get some sleep, talk about it more tomorrow.”

He didn’t even realize how late the hour was until he saw how empty the main hall was, nary a soul in sight besides a few servants, sweeping and mopping the floors for tomorrow. It had been such a long day. Hell, just a long afternoon. The remnants of his alcohol fueled panic attack had almost completely faded from the back of his head, thank the Maker. Although his jaw was still sore from where he had been punched.

Glancing up at him, Kiyone finally noticed the darkening bruise at the edge of his face. “What happened?”

“Cullen punched me.”

Kiyone stopped dead in her tracks. “What?!” she shrieked.

“Shhh, you’ll wake everyone.” Grabbing her wrist, he dragged her along, lightly pushing her into their room. “I deserved it. No harm done.”

“You-” closing her eyes, Kiyone took several full breaths, trying to calm herself down. “Ass. Both of you.”

“Well, I definitely was today.” Tossing her a cheeky grin over his shoulder, he disappeared into their bedroom, leaving Kiyone standing in front of the dying hearth.

“Alistair?” she called out softly. “The baby. If we go. What will happen?”

The babe. How could he have forgotten? Cullen’s child. No, it was his child, too. “He or she would be our heir. No one could ever know their true parentage.” He winced even as he said the words. It wouldn’t be fair to Cullen. To deny him his share in raising his own child.

“Ali, we don’t even know its true parentage,” she groaned. “We can’t make this decision by ourselves, you know. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I know.” Helping her unlace her dress, he watched as she slipped into a thin shift and crawled into the plush feather bed. “We’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

*** 

It was later than they planned by the time they met up with Cullen. The early dawn had brought with it Kiyone’s first bout of morning sickness, and Alistair had spent most of the day so far holding her hair over the chamber pot as she emptied her stomach. Feeling helpless, he busied himself tidying up their room, fetching her water and crackers as needed, until she was able to begin functioning again.

“A plague on all men,” was the first thing she groaned as she staggered out of the bedroom. Repressing a smile, Alistair went to her, smoothing back her hair.

“Feeling better?”

“Feeling less like death at the moment.” Leaning her head on his shoulder, the most pitiful whimper squeaked up at him.

“We don’t have to do this right now, you know. Could stay here, rest a bit longer.”

“No,” she grimaced. “This room smells like vomit. I need fresh air. And a new chamberpot. I don’t think I’ll ever look at that one without throwing up ever again. I also have this intense need to punch Cullen for his part in this.”

Unable to hold back his grin a second time, Alistair chuckled as he grabbed her cloak, swinging it around her shoulders. “Alright, let’s go.”

Kiyone waited on a secluded part of the battlements, resting on a bench that overlooked the valley below as Alistair left to go fetch Cullen. It was a beautiful day. She had always been particularly fond of mountains and the vista here was unparalleled. Kirkwall had been so flat and dingy, and while she adored the Emerald Graves, there were no views like this there. _Though there was also a lot less snow there. Win some, lose some. Denerim. I wonder what that city is like. It’s on the coast, so that’s nice. Although I doubt we’d get time to check out the beach much. If the water ever gets warm there._ Briefly, she thought about the fact that she might be queen, but the mere idea of it terrified her so much that she immediately shoved it from her train of thought. _We’ll get to that if we get to that._

“Your husband says you wish to inflict bodily harm upon me?” Glaring up at his handsome smirk, Kiyone pulled her cloak around her tighter and sniffed.

“Maybe later. I’m feeling magnanimous right now.”

“You have my thanks, my lady,” he bowed.

“Never mind, changed my mind. Come here so I can punch you in the dick.”

Nimbly leaping out of her range, Cullen grinned at her as he leaned against the wall in front of them. “So how did the talk with Eamon go?”

“Good and bad,” Alistair sighed. “He apologized for the way he treated me as a child, so that was nice.”

“And the bad?”

A gust of wind howled over the ramparts, whipping hair and cloaks and skirts into a frenzy. Alistair’s stare grew icier as he gazed out over the mountains, as if winter had crept back into his heart. For a moment suspended in time, Kiyone saw him as the man Eamon wanted him to be- king of an entire country. “He wants me to go to Denerim. Anora may very well die soon, and…” he trailed off helplessly.

“And you’re the only chance of resolving the monarchy without bloodshed,” Cullen finished for him.

“Well, yes.”

The two men silently stared at each, neither of them daring to voice what was on their mind. They both knew there were many variables in play here- the current queen’s future, the response of the nobility, Alistair’s own reluctance. But there was no question in Cullen’s mind as to what should be done.

“You’re going, of course.”

“I am?” Alistair asked surprised, just as Kiyone responded, “He is?”

Sighing, Cullen leaned more fully against the stone walls, letting the keep support his bulk. “I may have spent the last decade away, but I am still a son of Ferelden. If you are the only deterrent to avoid a civil war, then you must go.”

“But,” he gestured helplessly at Kiyone, “The babe. Your babe.”

Staring at the space where her belly would soon grow, Cullen muttered, “I know.” It was a small price to pay, right? After all… “Would- would I still be able to see him? Or her?”

“Of course,” Kiyone shook her head. “We wouldn’t keep you from them.”

“And you would claim it as your heir?” Cullen’s steely gaze bored into Alistair, who nodded without hesitation.

“Absolutely.”

After all, what kind of life could he give his child? Raised in a warzone, amongst rifts and demons and constant battle and death? He barely had time for himself, let alone the demands a child would bring. No, this would be better. The babe- his babe, he reminded himself- would grow up in luxury. Loved by its mother and Alistair. Safe. Or as safe as one could be in the viper’s nest that was the seat of nobility. At least it was not Orlais. 

Duty, before all else. That was all Cullen knew. They had to go, no matter how much his heart protested it. And he would be left here, wanting, alone. Evelyn…

The shame that burned through him at the thought of her, at this very moment, when his focus should have been on them was like molten lava flowing just under his skin. But he couldn’t shake the thought. Maybe, they could still have something. Maybe he wouldn’t be left completely alone when his lovers left. Maybe there was still hope. He had tried his best to put the pain of her absence from his heart, but it had only been a day. The shock of all the news that just kept rolling in was holding his grief at bay. It was too much for anybody to handle. And he wasn’t even the pregnant one.

“How are you holding up, Ki?” Glancing up at him, she shrugged. 

“I haven’t processed it yet. I mean, chances are the nobility won’t want me anyways, so this entire run around we’re doing is a waste of time.” He could tell by the set of her mouth and the crease of her brow that becoming a noble was the last thing she wanted. Both of them, actually. They were the last types on Thedas to ever seek power. And perhaps, that was exactly why they should.

“When?” Cullen murmured softly.

“End of the week,” Alistair scrubbed at his face vigorously. “Eamon will stay until then.”

 _At least we still have some time._ The unspoken words hung in the air, too delicate to be uttered, lest it shatter the tremulous hold they all kept on their emotions. 

“Commander, you’re needed in the war room.” Resisting the urge to throw the scout off the battlements, Cullen settled for a curt nod.

“See you tonight.” For once, it wasn’t a question. Nor was it a demand. Just a simple fact, that he would be there.

“Better go tell Eamon the news. At least someone will be happy,” pulling Kiyone to her feet, Alistair grabbed Cullen’s hand, the only outward display of affection they would allow themselves in public. “I love you.”

“And I, you. Both of you,” he replied softly. Maker’s breath, but he missed them already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nooooooooo!!!


	31. Chapter 31

Arl Eamon had been more than pleased when Alistair informed him solemnly that he and his wife would accompany them back to Redcliffe, with the move to Denerim happening shortly after that. In the darkest corner of his heart, the old Arl allowed himself a small flicker of hope that the Landsmeet would accept the girl, as even he could see how well she balanced him out. Calm where Alistar was temperamental, yielding where he was stubborn, soothing when he was abrasive- she was everything Anora was not, gentle and kind, despite her lack of political knowledge. Except for that backbone of fierce steel and intelligence he caught brief glimpses of; that, the two women had very much in common. And political acumen could be learned, given time. For both of them.

Kiyone managed to offer the Arl a polite smile as he surreptitiously stared at her from across the main hall, trying to keep her focus on the noblewoman in front of her who was currently blathering on about the different types of silks that would be coming in fashion now. All she wanted to do was go up to their room and sleep. But this was to be her life soon, wasn’t it? Playing nice with stuck up bitches regardless of her desires? Nodding her agreement and smiling whether or not she wanted to strangle them with their expensive ropes of pearls? This was all madness.

“Lady Theirin, may I have a word with you?” Grasping onto the Inquisitor’s mellow tone like a life raft, Kiyone quickly excused herself from the Orlesian woman and followed Evelyn out of the hall and into the gardens. She really should come here more often. It was peaceful out here, the heady smell of the herbs and flowers mixing into one delicious aroma that honestly would probably give her a headache sooner than later, but it was pleasant for now. “How are you feeling?”

Taking a seat where Evelyn had stopped, Kiyone stared at a nearby flower. Embrium, she thought it was. Reaching out to gently caress the velvety petals, she sighed. “Lost. Scared. Completely and totally unsure and unprepared for everything that’s going on. You?”

“Much of the same, although to a lesser extent,” Evelyn replied wryly. “It’s only been a day without Cullen and you and Alistair, and yet… I feel the loss very keenly. It is a feeling I did not expect,” she confessed.

Kiyone laced her fingers through the Inquisitor’s and squeezed. “I understand. This is,” shaking her head, she kicked her feet out straight in front of her, tapping her heels in the dirt. “A fucking disaster. I can’t help feeling like I’m the one who drove you and Cullen apart. But, maybe with us being gone, you two can fix things?” Her eyes were hopeful and bright, pleading with Evelyn to agree. “You can, can’t you?”

“We can try,” she murmured softly. “You know I didn’t want to do that, right? Just the potential scandal of it all, and we can’t risk alienating any of our allies. Not this late in the game. Some of which are very, shall we say, straight laced.”

“Proper Andrastians,” Kiyone grimaced.

“Yes.”

“I understand. The price you must pay for the position you hold. But now, with everything else, the baby is Alistair’s. It has to be. No one can know, Ev,’ her voice lowered to a barely audible whisper. Evelyn nodded. She wondered how Cullen was taking this news, given how adamant he had been about doing the right thing. Then again, he would see Alistair going to Denerim as also the right thing to do. The poor man was probably horrible conflicted. At least Alistair was no longer a drunk, raving, unconscious mess.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

Evelyn could imagine how Kiyone was feeling right now. She too had never wanted the attention. The power, the fame, the adoration. Content to live her life as a simple circle mage, Evelyn had been thrust centerstage before all of Thedas, her every action scrutinized as if what dress she wore or how she liked her tea mattered in the grand scheme of things. But at least, when Corypheus was finally gone, she might have a chance at normalcy again, if the Inquisition ever disbanded. Shed the mantle of Inquisitor, and become Evelyn Trevelyan once again. Kiyone and Alistair would never be able to. Once crowned, they would serve Ferelden as king and queen for the rest of their lives. It was not a fate she wished on her friends. On her lovers.

A familiar scent of elderberry and cinnamon drifted along the breeze, swirling around their senses. Turning around, Evelyn smile faltered as she looked past Alistair, to a hesitant Commander, nervously shifting from foot to foot. “Inquisitor,” he nodded.

“Cullen,” she breathed. Instantly, his shoulders sagged in relief, the tension sluicing off of him like rain in a thunderstorm.

“Eamon tried to corner us into a supper with all the nobility but I’ve told him no,” Alistair held his hand out for his wife.

“What he means is that he threw a temper tantrum and refused to, what was it you said? Do anything remotely kingly until after you’ve left Skyhold?” Cullen remarked dryly.

Alistair at least had the grace to blush. “Well, there’s that. Oh Evelyn, I’ve written down a few recommendations for Grey Wardens that would be fit to take over command in my stead. I gave it to a runner to put with your other correspondence. Soo… supper? Together?”

His hopeful expression blossomed into exuberance as Evelyn nodded. “I’ll go tell them to bring it to my room. Um, if that’s okay?”

“Perfect,” Kiyone smiled. “Be up there in a few.” Sitting down beside her, Alistair threw an arm over her shoulder as Cullen disappeared to cram in another few minutes of work before the meal. “I’m going to miss this place. It feels like home now.” Her head leaned against his shoulder.

“It does, doesn’t it? I wonder if Denerim will ever feel like home,” he mused. Even their little cottage in the Emerald Graves, while lovely, hadn’t really felt like it belonged to them. Forever drifting, that what they had been doing for the past seven years. Kirkwall, Starkhaven, all over Orlais, the Graves, now Skyhold. It would hurt to leave this place. Where they had found Cullen. And now Evelyn. Glancing over at Kiyone, his eyes caught her hand, resting against her lower abdomen. His own fingers reached out to lay over hers. “Hey, I think I felt something.”

“That was gas, Alistair,” she rolled her eyes.

“Hey, don’t call our baby gas,” he grinned. Dusting off her skirts, she tried to hide her own smile as she stood. At least now, he’d be able to dress her in the fine gowns and jewels she deserved, he realized. Even though it would have no effect on her beauty. Her appearance as she was now, glassy eyed and still slightly tinged green, her hair falling loose from her braid, skirts stained from soot and potions- it was perfect. All of her.

“Something on my face?”

“Yes, a little something right here.” Tugging her close, he dropped his lips over hers, hungrily devouring the scent of her hair and the taste of her skin. Maker, even after these years, he still couldn’t get enough of her. And that was fine with him. If he had his way, they would be 80 years old and still pawing at each other like teenagers. “I love you,” he muttered hoarsely. “If you ever decide you want to leave Denerim, just say the word and we’ll go.”

“And leave Ferelden to war?” She lightly stroked his ruddy cheek.

“Hang the lot of them, I say. Your happiness is worth more to me than the country.”

“Charmer,” she giggled. “Come on, they’re probably waiting on us by now.” They weren’t, in fact, waiting on them. Evelyn was, but Cullen was nowhere to be seen. Grumbling under her breath, Evelyn stomped back down the stairs to retrieve him, returning scant minutes later with a sheepish Commander in tow.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he pulled up a chair. “There’s just so much to do before we leave for Arbor Wilds.” And there was. He had maps to study of the area, scout reports to decipher, dozens of different troop movements to plan, rations to portion out, armor and weapon requisitions to fill, the list was endless. And yet he knew that he still had a month in which to complete all these things. But only five days until Alistair and Kiyone left. Who knows how long until he would see them again? The child would probably have been born by the time he made it to Denerim for a visit. 

With a sharp pang, he realized he would never get to see Kiyone grow heavy with child. Never get to feel those tiny kicks, or see his babe take its first breaths. Never before had he allowed himself such indulgent fantasies involving a wife, child, or family. But now? It was all he wanted. And to know he would be denied this, even though it was through no fault of anyone’s, burned. The rest of the stresses of the past few days came crashing down on him all at once. He trembled with the growing rage within him. Tempering his near overwhelming urge to scowl and upend the entire table across the room, Cullen instead took a long sip of the whiskey in front of him, feeling the warm liquid trace a path of liquid fire down to his belly. And another. Glaring intently at the honeyed amber liquor as if it could sate his needs.

“Uh oh,” Alistair glanced over at Kiyone. “I know that look.”

“No,” Cullen gritted. “I can’t. Not anymore.”

“I’m not a delicate flower, Cullen,” Kiyone huffed. “I won’t break.”

“It’s not right.”

“Um… What are we talking about?” Evelyn glanced worriedly from side to side.

“Cullen-”

“I said _no_.”

“Is a stubborn arse,” Alistair finished. Imperiously holding out her hand, he obliged Kiyone, pulling his belt off and giving to her. Cullen’s nostrils flared as he watched her gently slap the smooth leather against her palms.

“Oh,” Evelyn’s eyes widened. “That’s right, you didn’t…”

“You wanted to watch, right?” Alistair glanced over at her, Kiyone jerking her head back perplexed.

“Are you sure?”

Straightening her spine, Evelyn nodded. “I am. I do.”

“Maker’s breath, stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Cullen growled. “I am not doing this. Not with you bearing my child!” He slammed his fist down on the table for emphasis, the dishes and silverware rattling against each other.

“Cullen,” Kiyone knelt slowly by his knee, laying her wrists and Alistair’s belt over his thigh reverently, as if she were laying down an offering to a king, or a sacrifice to the Maker. “It’s okay. I’m not fragile. I won’t break. Look at me. Let me be here for you while I can.”

“Ki-” he licked his lips, the skin suddenly parched and dry as the Hissing Wastes.

“Griffon,” she whispered up at him. Closing his eyes, his head fell back as he attempted to rein in the maelstrom raging inside of him. Calloused fingers wrapped unerringly around the leather belt.

“Oh Maker, hear my cry,” muttering under his breath, he stood up, the meal and the others now forgotten. All that existed was her. Hair like obsidian, glinting the burnished red of blood in the light of the fire, eyes like the Void itself, fathomless, brimming with the promise of his absolution. “Guide me through the blackest nights.”

Slowly, Kiyone backed away from him, untying her laces and slipping her dress off of her bare shoulders, the fabric pooling around her ankles. “Steel my heart,” he croaked, “Against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places.” Her knees hit the back of the bed’s footboard. Taking the belt, he carefully wrapped it around her neck and tightened it with one swift jerk, almost hitting the floor as his knees threatened to give out at the flare of her nostrils.

A slender hand appeared just inside of his range of vision, setting two silk scarves on the bed. “Oh Creator, see me kneel: For I walk only where You would bid me.” Grabbing up the soft lengths, he wound the smooth fabric around her wrists and bound them to the bedposts, one on each side. Stepping back to admire his handiwork, he found he could barely breathe. “Stand only in places You have blessed.” He tugged at the belt, watching in fascination as her entire body tensed up and her eyes fluttered shut, her thighs pressing together in an attempt to create any sort of friction. “Sing only the words You place in my throat. I need-”

His leather whip and a vial of oil was suddenly tossed onto the mattress from somewhere behind him. Turning in surprise, Alistair grinned at him from where he sat, a topless Evelyn on his lap, her pert nipples between his fingers. “I had a feeling,” he shrugged. How did they always know what he needed before he even did? It was nothing short of a miracle. Stroking the leather thongs reverently, it was with great effort that he tore his eyes away from scene behind him.

“My Maker, know my heart: Take from me a life of sorrow.” Gooseflesh rose wherever he dragged the soft leather over her body. Taking his sweet time, he thoroughly covered every inch of her skin, his hands singing with the sweet promise of pain and pleasure. “Lift me from a world of pain.” The crack resounded through the air as it swiped across the side of her hip, Evelyn’s gasp fading into the depths of his mind as Kiyone’s cry drowned it out. Her dark eyes rose to meet his, begging him for more. Raising the cat o’ nine tails again, he brought it down hard on her inner thigh, marveling at how fast the red welts seemed to blossom. “Judge me worthy of Your endless pride. No games tonight, Ki. I’m going to take from you what I need until I’m satisfied.”

“Yes, Commander,” she moaned, her wrists tugging at the restraints. Maker's breath, but how she could turn his title into a thing of wanton desire like that. Glancing behind, his lips crooked up into a cold smile. The others were both naked now, Evelyn still on his lap but now impaled on Alistair’s thick girth. She was writhing on top of him, but he was still as a statue, stoic, refusing to give her any satisfaction as his narrowed eyes focused on Kiyone.

“Look at them Ki,” he ordered. “Look how well she takes his cock. As well as you take mine, I daresay.”

“Please,” she gasped.

“Not yet.” Two more sharp blows and he had her panting for air. That wouldn’t do. Tightening the belt further, he played with the end a bit, dragging it across her nipples. “You are so lovely like this. Perhaps I should get you a collar. As a reminder of me.” Her answering lusty groan sent a shockwave of blood rushing straight to his groin. Oh, yes. Silk, perhaps. Or leather. Maker, it would be perfect. Pulling it taut across her throat, he climbed onto the bed behind her and laced her back a few more times, barely giving her time between whips to recover until she was burning beneath his touch. Leaning over, he blew a gust of cool air across her heated flesh, sending shivers all down her spine. “My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace.”

Evelyn wailed as he watched, Alistair’s hands assaulting her clit as he lazily rolled his hips against her. An overwhelming urge to be inside Kiyone consumed him. Sliding behind her, he roughly parted her ass cheeks and thrust inside, the state of her dripping core providing almost no resistance. “Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.” Her ravaged back felt as if it were melting through to his chest, the lacerations radiating with fire. Alistair’s eyes were almost completely black now, the sounds of his flesh echoing off Evelyn’s the only sound in the room. “Don’t let her come yet, Theirin.” Nodding, he yanked her off of his lap and pushed Evelyn to the floor despite her reedy cry of protest, looming over her as he stroked himself to completion, Cullen moaning as he watched his lover’s seed filling her mouth, spilling down her chin and onto her breasts. “Maker,” he hissed. “Tell me I have sung to your approval.”

“Cullen,” Kiyone whimpered. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he gave a her a few more languid thrusts.

“Evelyn,” he commanded. “Come here.” Anticipating what Cullen wanted, Alistair hauled Evelyn up to her feet and led her over in front of Kiyone, pushing her back onto her knees. “Lick. And don’t you dare come, Ki.”

The cry that ripped from Kiyone’s throat as Evelyn’s tongue began tentatively tasting the place where she and Cullen were joined sounded to him like a chorus of angels, descended from heaven itself. Unable to help himself, Alistair scooted behind Cullen and lightly stroked the cleft of his ass, watching the fearsome Commander of the Inquisition shudder beneath his touch. “Oh Maker, hear my cry: Seat me by Your side in death,” he gasped as a finger slowly breached him. “Make me one within Your glory. And let the world once more see Your favor.”

“Cullen, please!” Kiyone wailed, thrashing against him. Her body vibrated with the struggle of holding her release back, sweat dripping down her flushed skin, stinging the welts that blanketed her. She wasn’t going to hold on for much later he knew. Briefly, he wondered if he should push her to that limit, just so he could take her punishment from her. But then, he felt a tongue swirl against his clenched balls, his own self control hanging by a fragile thread that was fraying with every breath, and another rough finger joined its mate inside of him.

It was hopeless. Gripping Kiyone’s hips tightly with one hand, he yanked hard on the belt with the other, until almost all of her airflow was cut off. “For You are the fire at the heart of the world, and comfort is only Yours to give.” His fire, his heart, his comfort. “Now, Ki,” he growled. He felt her muscles spasm around him, his own thrusts and Evelyn’s ministrations refusing to let up as they pushed her through her orgasm, feeling her shudder and fall apart around them once, twice, thrice. Too much sensation. Between her walls trying to strangle his cock and draw him in further, Evelyn’s glorious tongue against his slick shaft and her fingers lightly caressing his balls, and Alistair’s fingers deep inside of his ass- “Fuck.”

If asked afterwards, he would swear he had never come so long or hard before in his life, probably never would again. The stream of his seed was relentless, overflowing Kiyone’s sweet cunt and dribbling down into Evelyn’s mouth in an obscene display. Peering over his shoulder, Alistair muttered, “Holy Maker. That is…”

Withdrawing from his lover’s body, Alistair practically leapt over the bed and dragged Evelyn away, penetrating her swollen folds in one violent shove. “Take what you need,” he encouraged her to ride him, and she obliged willingly. As Cullen gently untied Kiyone, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists, Evelyn bounced on top of Alistair’s cock, keening her release mere seconds later. Grunting, he flipped her over onto her back and cradled her underneath his large bulk, ignoring the pain from the rug rubbing against his knees as he pounded her into submission.

“Alistair, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he gritted out. “Come for me again, sweet girl. That’s it, just feel.” Kiyone smiled as Evelyn forced herself to relax again, the sounds of her sweet pleasure and her husband’s filling the room as they both pushed each other to their respective peaks, Alistair’s overly loud roar drowning her quieter gasps out.

Lifting Kiyone up in his strong, broad arms, Cullen gently nuzzled her cheek as her arms wrapped around his neck. “Maker’s breath, but I love you. So very much. What will I do once you are gone?”

“You’ll still have Evelyn. And I’m only a few days’ ride away, love,” she assured him. “You’ll always be welcome wherever we are.”

“Whipping the queen into submission. That’ll be a new one,” he chuckled at her moue of disgust at the mention of her possible future title, laying her onto the bed. “Evelyn, do you have any elfroot ointment in here?”

“Top drawer of my dresser,” came the muffled reply, her face buried in Alistair’s chest still. Padding over to collect it, Cullen swiped a towel along with the jar and began his routine of cleansing and soothing the damage he had caused. This was perhaps his favorite part, when he could relax with a clear head and admire his handiwork, taking care of his lover. Feeling her melt under his touch, soft, quiet, trusting. Pressing a kiss over each new mark he found, he slowly worked his way over her body, taking long enough that Evelyn and Alistair eventually found their way to bed as well.

“Stay?” Evelyn asked hopefully. Scooting in behind her, Alistair cuddled against her back.

“Don’t mind if we do.” Kiyone’s agreement was more in the form of a tiny mewl, earning her indulgent smiles and chuckles. “I don’t think I could move her even if I tried.”

“Nuh-uh,” she smiled sleepily.

Hesitantly, Evelyn reached out a hand and traced the delicate lines of Kiyone’s face and inhaled deeply. “I… I love you. Both of you. All of you. I just wanted you all to know that, before- before-” Before it was too late.” Snuggling his face into her hair, Alistair’s smile was jubilant.

“I love you, too, Ev.”

“M’too,” Kiyone yawned, trying to extend her hand as well, but failing miserably as the limb flopped down to the sheets, heavy and useless. Giggling, Evelyn picked it up and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Sleep. All of you.” Cullen sighed happily as he spooned himself around Kiyone, feeling Evelyn lace her fingers through one of his hands, Alistair through his other. Home. Family. Why had he resisted this for so long? They could have had more time with each other, instead of these hurried last few nights, the future looming over them like- No. They were together now. And perhaps, if the fates were kind, they would be together again. He had to have faith that this was not the end of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably one of my favorite smut scenes I've written so far. Something about Cullen and the Chant...


	32. Chapter 32

It felt almost like a funeral the day they left. The sky was disconcertingly bright and blue, nary a cloud in sight as the servants stacked the last of their meager belongings onto the wagon. Despite all the clothes they had accumulated while in Skyhold, the total sum of their worldly affairs only filled two small trunks, a fact which was more than likely soon to change.

Having said their goodbyes in private the night before, there wasn’t much more left to be said. Kiyone made the rounds with her other friends, tearfully begging everyone to write her. “So when should I plan a visit to Denerim? Around, say Satinalia?” Varric winked.

“Um, I mean, you’re more than welcome anytime,” Kiyone was puzzled. Then, as he gave a meaningful glance towards her midsection, she blushed a deep red. “How did you figure it out,” she muttered quietly.

The dwarf chuckled. “I’m observant, remember? And you’ve been sick quite a bit recently. And always napping. I don’t think anyone else figured it out though, don’t worry. Although I wouldn’t put it past the Nightingale to already have known.”

“I’m not trying to keep it a secret really,” she sighed. “Just trying to give my brain time to adjust to the idea.”

“Totally get it. You’re gonna be fine though, you and Freckles both. So, Satinalia, am I right?”

“Gods, I hope so. First Day would be a better bet,” she grinned. 

“First Day it is,” he gave her a warm bear hug. “Take care of him.”

Evelyn crushed Kiyone to her chest, blinking watery, red rimmed eyes furiously in an attempt to keep her tears at bay. “If you ever need anything, anything, you send a raven, understand?”

“Of course. I wish we could stay and help. Be careful at the Arbor WIlds. If anything happened to you…” Both of their hands trembled, fingers tangled up together in an attempt to keep each other together just a few moments longer. Behind them, Alistair and Cullen finally pulled apart from their hug, the timing of which was a little longer than could have been considered appropriate but neither really cared. Cullen offered her a wan smile.

“We’ll be by to visit as soon as duties permit.”

“So, ten years?” Kiyone snorted.

“I’ll try to make time before the end of the age,” he responded wryly. It probably wasn’t proper for him to hug the wife of another for as long as he did, or hold her as fiercely as he gripped her, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered about this either. “Love you,” he whispered into her hair. He had spent the previous night wrapped around her all those short, dark hours they were permitted, his hand resting across her belly, as if he could impart to his unborn child his love through mere touch. It wasn’t enough time. Reluctantly, he let her go, feeling as if the world was trying to suffocate him under the weight of his grief of a future lost. A future he hadn’t even known he had wanted until it was too late. Evelyn slipped her hand into his, his one ray of light amidst all the spreading darkness.

With another tremulous wave, Kiyone disappeared into the carriage, Alistair tucking her skirts around her legs as Arl Eamon mounted a horse. “Ready?” he called.

“As we’ll ever be,” Alistair sighed. And so, they were off. “It’ll be okay, Ki.”

Wiping her eyes yet again, she threw her hands up exasperatedly. “I know. I just can’t stop crying. Stupid pregnancy.”

Chuckling, he switched seats so that he was sitting next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Probably should tell Eamon soon about that. He’ll be thrilled.”

“He’ll probably figure it out before we get to Redcliffe. I don’t think I’m going to make it the whole way without stopping to be sick,” she blanched at the sway of the carriage over the rocky path. “This is going to suck.”

*** 

It did, in fact, suck for Kiyone. Eventually, she gave up on trying to ride in the carriage and took the horse instead, the fresh air and comforting gait of the beast infinitely more soothing on her tender stomach than the rolling of the carriage. 

“Pregnant, hmm?” Eamon smiled indulgently as his nephew. “How are you taking it?”

“I had a bit of a freak out at first,” he chuckled. “But the idea is growing on me. I just… don’t really have any idea of what to do. Not like I had very many role models as a child.” Ignoring Eamon’s wince and heedless of the knowledge that his words were a low blow, Alistair watched his wife as she cantered along the road, the wind whipping her hair around her face like some wild, barbarian queen. He could tell she was enjoying the warmer weather of the lowlands and cool breeze that rolled off Lake Calenhad, shimmering just to their left. If he squinted, he could already see the windmills high atop the hills over Redcliffe. “So how long will we be staying here?”

“A few weeks. Long enough to get you both proper wardrobes and ensure that you both know the basics of court behavior. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll leave around the first of Solace. Ah, there’s the gate to the castle. We’re here.”

A familiar, petite woman was waiting for them on the steps just inside the bailey, her hands clasped demurely in front of her pristine skirts. “Welcome home, husband. Alistair,” her smile was tight as she appraised the younger man. 

“Isolde,” he replied glumly. “May I introduce my wife?” Hastening over to her horse, he grabbed her as she slid off the saddle, a faint shadow of pain flickering across her features from the overextended muscles that were no longer used to riding.

“Your wife?” Isolde gaped. “And you let her ride while both of you sat in the carriage? For shame, both of you!”

Eamon held out his hands placatingly. “Isolde, she’s pregnant, and-”

“And she’s pregnant?!" she screeched. "Oh, Andraste preserve me from these menfolk." Deftly separating the stunned woman from the others, she immediately bustled Kiyone inside, Alistair trying to suppress his grin at his wife’s frantic glance of help she shot his way, her eyes pleading with him to save her.

“See you in a bit, love!” Kiyone could cheerfully strangle him right now. Instead, she followed the blonde Orlesian woman inside the castle, through a maze of halls that all blurred into a never ending tunnel of stone and tapestry until her host pushed open a heavy, wooden door.

“These will be your chambers while you are here. I apologize for the lack of feminine touches; Eamon did not tell me you would be coming.” Kiyone almost felt sorry for the man, given the ire that snapped within his wife’s eyes. 

“It’s no trouble at all, Lady Guerrin,” Kiyone gave her best attempt at courtly manners, smiling demurely at the noblewoman. “The rooms are lovely as they are.”

“Oh, aren’t you a dear,” she sniffed. “The servants will fill up the tub so you can have a nice, long soak and I’ll see if I have anything that might fit you. We are of a similar size, I believe. If you need anything, ask one of the staff, my dear.”

Kiyone perched on the edge of the bed as a stream of servants entered the room, taking turns emptying steaming buckets of water into a large copper basin. She had to admit, after almost a week on the dusty road, a bath sounded like heaven. Happily languishing in the tub by the time Alistair waltzed in, a tiny wave of her hand was all she had energy for, as the hot water had drained the rest from her limp body.

“Mind if I join you?”

“If I ever say no, assume that I’m an imposter,” she smiled. Groaning, he lowered himself in behind her, his wife immediately snuggling her back into his chest.

“Seamstress comes tomorrow,” he muttered. “Tonight, we’re free though. I can show you around a bit, if you like. There’s a kennel here, and one of the bitches whelped a few weeks ago.”

“Puppies?” she gasped.

“Puppies,” he agreed.

“What are we waiting for?” Practically leaping out of the tub, Kiyone flew around the room drying off and pulling on the petticoats Isolde had sent her. “Shit. Why are there so many pieces to this dress?”

“Call a servant?” Alistair suggested, unable to help laughing at her sudden burst of effusiveness. “There’s a pull cord in that corner.” Smiling as she all but threw herself at the cord, he finished bathing as she impatiently paced the length of the room and was dressing himself by the time a servant crept in to help lace her into the gown. “Maker,” he breathed. Velvet skirts of a deep purple whispered softly against the stone floor, a pale yellow bodice cinched loosely around her waist with matching lace that covered the swell of her bosom and wrists. And to top it all off, her hair had been pulled back into a perfect bun atop the crown of her head and covered with a thin net of gold and strung with pearls, sparkling against the midnight sheen of her locks. “You are a vision.”

“It is rather pretty,” she smiled down at herself.

“You are rather pretty,” he corrected her.

Taking his hand shyly, she peered up at him from beneath dark lashes. “So… puppies?” 

Kiyone practically skipped at his side as they walked down to the kennels together, squealing in delight as the barking got louder. Pulling open the fence for her, Alistair raised an eyebrow as a dog with familiar marks stared him down, her fur almost completely gray with age, intelligent eyes widening in recognition. “Hey, there. I remember you.”

“From over twenty years ago?” Kiyone asked incredulously.

Kneeling down, he held out a hand that the mabari tentatively sniffed, before laying her heavy head against his palm. “Mabari usually live around twenty years or so, but if well cared for, they can live up to twenty-five. This is Halli, she used to be my bedmate,” he smiled down at the dog, who clearly remembered him, now rubbing against his leg. “Or Hallisere, actually. I used to pretend I was a dog too, and she was my sister. Actually, I’d take you over the harridan that is my sister, yes I would,” he cooed to the dog, earning him a satisfied whoof.

“Ali…” She couldn’t have stopped the tears if she tried. The idea of her love, curled up in the dark in the hay with a tiny puppy, all alone except for the pair of them broke her. She could picture the scene far too easily, a scruffy, gangly lad of ten, peeking out from behind the wall at the rain, because of course it was raining in her mind, hair matted against his head as men and women passed by, completely ignorant of his forlorn soul, fingers curled into the pup’s fur at his side. Gingerly resting her knees in the dirt, Kiyone reached out to scratch the dog behind her ears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For loving him.” She swore the look the mabari gave her was the canine equivalent of “duh, lady”. Padding away from the couple, Halli turned back once as if to ask, “You guys coming?” before disappearing into the shadows of the low building behind.

“Looks like she’s inviting us inside,” Alistair wiped the dirt from his pants. “Let’s go see.” Just inside one of the straw lined pens, another mabari with similar coloring reclined, seven fat, pudgy puppies suckling eagerly at their mother’s teats. Halli gave a comforting lick to the other’s dog’s face, waiting on the pair to approach. “Hmm. Grandpuppies?” She barked softly. “They’re beautiful. You must be a proud mama,” he smiled at the tired mabari.

Done with his afternoon snack, one of the puppies wandered over to where Kiyone crouched, yawning as he plopped his tiny body down over her slipper. The expression of pure bliss and the silent, open mouth scream of sheer happiness was worth everything, Alistair thought. Gently stroking its round belly, Kiyone made herself comfortable in the hay, settling the pup in her lap to nap. One by one, the rest of puppies followed their sibling, arranging themselves in a snuffling pile on her crispy velvet skirts. Kiyone was in heaven.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a new family,” he chuckled. “I wonder if one of those pups might imprint on you.” At her puzzled look, he continued, “Mabari choose their master, usually. It makes for a better and stronger relationship than just picking a dog at random.”

“How will I know,” she softly murmured, still lost in a haze of tiny paws and twitching ears and cold noses.

“You’ll know,” he assured her. “What do you say, mama? Do you think we could take one of the puppies if it wants to come with us?”

Glancing up at Halli, the older dog gave a soft woof, nuzzling her daughter in affirmation. The mother nodded, just once. “They really do understand,” Kiyone’s face was caught somewhere between awe and wonderment, as if she was witnessing the coming of the Maker himself.

“Alistair? I thought I might find you in here.” Eamon’s face jerked back in surprise when he poked his head in, at the sight of Kiyone curled up with the puppies. “Looks like they like you.” He definitely approved of this development. If she wasn’t noble, at least she was Ferelden at heart. It was the one thing that always irked him about Isolde, how distasteful she found the mabari.

“I love them. All of them,” she declared, lifting one up to her face to press kisses wherever she could, giggling at the little licks she received in gratitude.

A rare smile cracked through the nobleman’s stoic facade, and he found that he was loathe to interrupt the tender moment. “Supper will be ready soon. I thought you might want time to clean up,” he motioned to Alistiar, who was now covered in bits of straw and dirt, as was his wife. “Some things never change,” he sighed.

Trying to conceal her pout, Kiyone carefully set the pup back down. “Do we have to,” she pleaded. 

“We’ll come back later. And tomorrow, and the day after that,” he promised.

“And by the time we leave for Denerim, the pups should be ready to separate from their mother, should you wish to take one,” Eamon added. Lighting up like the chantry in Val Royeaux at Satinalia, Kiyone nodded enthusiastically.

“That would be perfect, thank you, my lord.” Moving the puppies one by one back against their mother, Kiyone kissed them all as she said her goodbyes. “Thank you, mama,” she rubbed the mabari’s head affectionately. “We’ll be back, okay?”

***

Ferelden was a strange place, Kiyone decided. Probably the only place in the world where the court would welcome a three month old puppy sitting in during the Landsmeet. Atalanta, or Lanta for short, snuggled contentedly at her feet while the debate raged around them.

“What has he been doing these past ten years? We don’t need a mercenary on the throne, we need a strong ruler!”

“He’s taken control of the Grey Wardens for the Inquisition to admirable effect. Cleared my lands of the darkspawn only a few months ago.”

“And he’s a Theirin! That should count for something!”

“He’s a bastard. And his wife is an orphan commoner! Hardly fit for nobility, let alone royalty.” That was the story that they had selected for Kiyone, a parentless child who had been raised on the streets of Kirkwall. No knowledge of her lineage at all. All mention of her magic withheld. It was safest that way, given her unusual appearance and strange accent that had now adapted to some odd Ferelden/Marcher mix. Drumming her fingers on the carved wood of her chair, Kiyone risked a glance over at her husband, who was visibly scowling, furious at the way the nobles talked about them as if they were invisible.

“But the throne would be secure. Ferelden would be safe,” another pleaded. “With a Theirin on the throne, and the babe that grows with his wife, the monarchy would be assured. We can not afford another war after the last mage-templar debacle.”

“Not to mention the havoc the demons wreaked on my lands! It will take us years to recover.”

“Are we ready for a vote, then?” Eamon called. A chorus of ayes echoed through the vast chamber. “All in favor to acknowledge Alistair Theirin as Crown Prince and heir of Her Majesty Queen Anora, along with Kiyone Theirin as future Princess-Consort?” Kiyone laid a gentle hand on his arm as Alistair opened his mouth, indignant that they would not grant her the title of queen. She shook her head slightly. Queen, princess, it mattered little to her, as long as they were together. Pursing his lips, he snapped his mouth shut.

A startling number of hands raised in support of the motion. “All those opposed?” Still a goodly number. “We’ll wait for the tallies.” Mutters and whispers filled the room as runners moved from teryn to arl to bann, recording each one’s decision. Motioning for the couple to rise, Eamon accepted the parchment as it was handed to him. “13 to 10. All hail His Highness, Crown Prince Alistair.” The newly minted royal blanched. This was not what he had been expecting, given the extreme opposition some of the gathered held, especially with regards to his wife. At his side, Kiyone trembled. Grabbing her hand, they drew strength from each other as they gazed out across the Landsmeet, watching each man and woman bow in turn.

“Your Highnesses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had a lap full of puppies, I would die. DIE.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Birth trauma, hemorrhaging

The skies were finally bright and clear, the Breach having been resealed for good and Corypheus defeated just a few months earlier. The preparations for First Day were well underway, the remnants of Satinalia just removed the week before. It was the end of 42, Dragon Age, the 6th of Haring.

Denerim was freezing this far into winter, but Kiyone hardly noticed anymore. She was practically sweating at all hours of the day, her massive belly swollen where it rested atop a pillow. Confined to her bed since the last month, she was bored, with only tutors and Lanta to keep her company most days, as Alistair now spent most of his time in conference with his new advisors, taking over more duties from Anora day by day as the queen grew more frail with each passing week. It wouldn’t be long now, the servants and nobles whispered amongst themselves. It was only a matter of time. But perhaps it was best this way.

The people adored Alistair and his wife, or they did love her, the rare times she made it out in public these days. He was everything she already knew him to be- caring, generous, honest, considerate of the plight of the common man and elf. One of us, the people gaped in awe as he walked through the streets. Even the nobility began to warm up to the pair as they discovered how charming the crown prince was. Kiyone, in particular, worked extra hard to prove that she was deserving of their loyalty, cramming every bit of her studies into her brain until her wealth of political knowledge rivaled even the banns that had been raised into this world.

Cullen, of course, rarely wrote to them, but Evelyn made sure to keep up a steady flow of correspondence to her well missed lovers. It had been a huge relief for the royals to learn that she had come out of the final battle unscathed, and that finally, her mark was quiet. Since that fateful night, it had been a never ending parade of balls and celebratory speeches and toasts for the destroyer of Corypheus, interspersed with the occasion rift that still lurked in the more rural areas of Orlais, Ferelden, and the Free Marches. Normally hating all the pomp and circumstance, there was one gathering that the Inquisitor and her Commander was greatly looking forward to- the gala in Denerim on First Day.

Kiyone smiled as her swollen finger traced the last line of Evelyn’s most recent letter: “ _We should be there by the second week of Haring, as long as everything goes well. I know Cullen in particular is eager to get there before you give birth, so we hope we make it in time. I pray that these last few weeks of pregnancy are treating you well, my dear, and we can’t wait to see you and Alistair again. With all our love, Evelyn_.”

They would be here tonight, judging by the latest guard reports from that morning, as long as their caravan didn’t run into any snags. Although, knowing their Commander, the stubborn man would just leave the wagons behind and ride ahead of the group anyways, she giggled to herself. Nudging her hand, Atalanta barked at the sound of approaching footsteps, pounding against the stone corridor outside.

“Ki! GRIFFONS!”

Kiyone glanced up in amusement as her husband raced into their chambers, waving around a missive above his head like an 8 year old boy, not the 32 year old crown prince that he was supposed to be. “What?”

“Griffons!” he repeated, every fiber of his being practically vibrating with excitement. “The Grey Wardens, they found _griffons_. A whole clutch of babies. Alive!”

Gasping, she snatched the report from his hand and eagerly scanned the letter. He had told her stories about the legendary creatures, of course, but to think they were actually still alive- it was like discovering that unicorns or faeries were real. “This is incredible. Up in the Anderfels? Do you think the Wardens will ride them into battle again one day?”

“I certainly hope so,” he grinned. “How are you today, love?”

“Contractions,” she groaned. “All fucking day.”

“It’s still a few weeks early, isn’t it?” Frowning, he rested a hand against her belly, chuckling as he felt the press of a foot against his palm. “Maybe he’s just eager to get out.”

“I really think there’s more than one in there,” she grumbled. “I’m huge, Ali. I look like an elephant. Or a druffalo. A giant, mutant druffalo.”

“You make it look good,” he assured her.

A tentative knock at the door drew both of their attention. “Your Highnesses? The Inquisitor and the Commander of the Inquisition are here.”

“Already?” Alistair was impressed. “They must have ridden hard since they were last spotted outside the city. Show them in, please.”

“Ali,” Kiyone whined. “I look like a mess.” Grabbing a brush, he settled at her side and began combing out the tangles in her long black hair, pulling it back into the simple braid that she had taught him years ago.

“There. Perfect,” he grinned. Evelyn’s head was the first to peek in, her emerald eyes sparkling as she took in her surroundings, gaping at the sight of Kiyone’s new figure.

“Don’t say it,” Kiyone warned. “I know I’m-”

“Huge,” Cullen walked into the room, unable to tear his eyes away from her swollen belly.

“Rutherford,” she growled. He blushed a furious crimson.

“Sorry, sorry! But you really are,” he replied sheepishly. “And gorgeous.” Making for her bedside, he cast furtive glances around the room for any sign of servants lurking before dropping his head to kiss her sweet lips and caress her stomach, kissing the taut skin there as well. “Hello little one,” he murmured. “I hope you’ve been behaving for your mother.”

“That is a very big dog,” Evelyn whispered, pointing to where Atalanta curiously watched the newcomers.

“This is Atalanta,” Kiyone beamed. “Go on, girl, they’re friends.” Something in the dog’s dubious glance told her that she knew they were more than mere friends, but the mabari padded over to them anyways, sniffing each one in turn before planting herself firmly in front of Cullen. Dark, expectant eyes stared at him as her tail slammed once, twice against the rich carpet. 

Reaching out, Cullen lightly scratched her just behind the ears. “Unusual name.”

“It’s from an old legend,” Kiyone hedged. Understanding lit his amber eyes.

“Where you’re from.” Biting her lip, she gave the tiniest nod. “Tell me?” The shadows behind her eyes instantly lifted at his acceptance. Scooting up beside Alistair, Evelyn tucked her feet under her as Cullen took the other side of the bed, spooning himself around Kiyone. 

“She was a fierce huntress, a warrior sworn to the goddess of the wild. Her father wished her to marry, but she told him that she would only marry the man who could beat her in a race. Any who lost would be killed. Many attempted the feat, as she was a beauty without compare, but they all failed short of the mark. Until one man, called Hippomenes, pleaded with the goddess of love, who bestowed upon him three golden apples. During the race, he threw each one separately, and Atalanta slowed down so she could retrieve them as she could not resist their allure. The time it took for her to pick them up cost her the race, and he won her hand.”

“So… shiny things,” Evelyn laughed.

“Shiny things,” Alistair agreed. “If Ki is ever missing a new shoe, it’s a safe bet that Lanta stole it. Especially the gem encrusted, gilded ones.”

“I missed you both so much,” Evelyn sighed happily as Alistair pressed increasingly warm kisses down the pale, smooth column of her throat.

“As did I,” Cullen found that he couldn’t stop touching Kiyone’s belly, the knowledge that it was his child in there driving him to distraction, a low, feral growl tearing from his chest.

“Cullen,” Kiyone murmured. “I love you and I’ve miss you so much, but I swear to the Maker if you touch me even with the slightest sexual intent, I will hurt you.” Blinking in surprise, he jerked himself back as Alistair and Evelyn guffawed, both of them doubled over in hysterics.

“I, uh, um-” he stuttered, at a complete loss of what to say. Turning to her husband, Kiyone smiled.

“I’m assuming you’re staying the night with them?” Everyone’s hopeful looks told her exactly how much they all desired that.

“Are you sure?” Alistair asked hesitantly.

Kiyone snorted. “Yes, I’m sure. I get the bed all to myself. That sounds better than sex right now because honestly, you want to cuddle all the damn time and I’m so fucking hot and you snore. So go. Please, for the love of all things holy, go.”

“We do have a bit of time before supper,” he mused with a glint in his eyes.

“Care to show us to our chambers, Your Highness?” Evelyn smirked.

“I’d be delighted, Lady Inquisitor,” he swept them both a grand bow. “If you’ll follow me.”

***

They apparently did not have enough time before the evening meal, as an army of servants was awaiting their arrival with great impatience, two steaming tubs having been drawn in each respective room. Sighing wistfully, Alistair let them both go, consoling himself with the fact that they were both here for the next three weeks and that they had time.

Cullen and Evelyn had both felt a bit disgruntled at the fact that Kiyone wasn’t at supper, but Alistair assured them both that she was sleeping, and wasn’t upset at all over missing another state dinner. “She’s always exhausted these days,” he sighed. “Poor thing. Can barely walk around the room without being in pain.”

“At least it’s almost over, right?” Cullen asked, throwing his embroidered jacket over a nearby chair.

“Mmm,” Alistair’s grin turned wicked as he began unbuttoning his own shirt, watching with hungry eyes as firm, muscled flesh was revealed to his gaze. “I missed you.”

“I missed you as well, my prince,” the Commander smirked as the other man slowly stalked towards him. 

It had only been six months since they had been together last, but Maker, it felt like a lifetime. Hands tangled in hair, mutually tugging, pulling, each demanding more access to what they craved most. Lips and teeth and tongue met amidst hoarse, breathy moans, reacquainting themselves with the taste of each other. Clothes fluttered softly to the ground as Alistair finally yielded to his lion, allowing himself to be pushed backwards onto the bed.

Nuzzling the velvet length of his lover, Cullen groaned and raked his nails down Alistair’s firm stomach, his own cock twitching at the sharp hiss that elicited. Vaguely, he was aware of movement near the bedroom door, accompanied by a flash of emerald green. But he was already too far gone. Swiping off the arousal that had beaded at the tip, Cullen took Alistair’s entire girth into his mouth in one swift, hot swallow, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucked, hard enough to cause the other man to arch off the bed, his hands scrambling in the sheets. 

“Fuck,” Alistair groaned. “Cullen, slow down.”

Pulling back slightly, the Commander grinned down at his flushed lover, the head of his length a violent, weeping purple, a vein along the side pulsing in time with his racing heart. Trailing a finger over the throbbing skin, he turned back to glance at Evelyn. “Come here, love.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” she smiled, pushing her dress off of her shoulders.

“You’re not,” Alistair sighed happily as he grabbed her hand and yanked her onto the bed. “Come up here, please.”

“Where?” she frowned.

“Sit on my face.”

“What?” she squeaked.

“Please,” he begged. “I need to taste you.” Blushing furiously, she did as he asked. _This is so awkward_ , she thought to herself as she situated her thighs over his head. _How am I ever going to get in the moo-_

“Ahhh!” Grabbing on to the headboard, all rational thought fled her as his lips latched around her heat, his moans vibrating against her clit as Cullen renewed his assault below, sucking and slurping and _dear Andraste_ , those sounds were so obscene. She could just see his eyes right now, closed in bliss as he inhaled every part of her, teasing and torturing her with his tongue and deft fingers. Now shamelessly grinding against his mouth, Evelyn pleaded with him, nonsensical ramblings of his name and please tumbling from her lips.

Like a wildfire racing through her blood, every nerve ending in her body lit up with pure pleasure, barely noticing as Alistair moaned at the gush of cream that flooded his mouth, her overwhelming scent and Cullen’s sweet tongue pushing him off the edge. Bracing himself against Alistair’s thighs, Cullen eagerly lapped every bit of the bitter spend that spurted from his lover, savoring the taste as he swallowed.

“I think I died,” Alistair croaked. Falling limply by his side, Evelyn had to agree. “Hmm.”

“What?” Cullen stretched out on his back, beyond pleased with himself, heedless of his erect cock that reached proudly for the ceiling. Reaching over, Alistair gently ran a loose grip over the pulsing member.

“Oh, nothing,” he grinned. “Flip over, will you? Evelyn, in that top drawer, there’s a vial. Pass it to me?”

Snorting, Cullen rolled over onto his stomach. “Do you keep a stash in every room?”

“Only the ones I know we’re going to be using,” he chuckled. “Now, hush and relax.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Ignoring the sarcasm, Alistair set to work, slowly kneading the Commander’s knotted back, his skin slick with oil. “Maker’s breath,” came a slur. “I should be doing this for you.”

“Later,” Alistair suggested, his fingers moving lower to knead glutes tight with strain. Slipping his hand into the shadow between, he gently trailed over the puckered hole hidden within. Grunting, Cullen thrusted his hips into the soft mattress, panting as a finger carefully breached him.

“Oh,” Evelyn murmured as she scooted closer to watch. “Those sounds he’s making should be illegal.”

“Right? Maker, I love how vocal he gets when he’s like this. When he can’t think of anything else besides me inside of him, penetrating his glorious ass. I bet he’s dying to be inside of you as well,” Alistair smirked. “Aren’t you, Cullen?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Please.”

“Easy now,” Alistair cooed, slipping a second digit inside. Stretching his lover’s entrance, he scissored his fingers, easing him open. 

“Dammit, Alistair, just fuck me already,” Cullen’s lusty growl sent a jolt of electricity straight down to his cock, jerking it back to full mast in a heartbeat.

“As you wish,” he murmured, sliding in from behind in one smooth thrust. “Yesss,” he sighed. “Maker, you are perfect.” Wrapping an arm around his torso, Alistair pulled him back so Cullen was sitting on his lap, leaving the blonde man free for Evelyn to snuggle up against his chest. Grinding her slick core against his rock hard erection, she tugged at her own nipples, moaning at the sweet friction.

Cullen hated being teased. Grabbing ahold of her hips, he slammed her down in one brutal shove onto his waiting cock, snarling as he captured one of her pale pink peaks between his teeth and bit hard enough to make her scream. “Cullen,” she whimpered, so prettily. “More.”

More. Little by little, in the absence of Kiyone, he had dragged Evelyn down into the depths of his own depravity, until she craved the pleasure only he could give her, bruising, aching, punishing and so, so good. Until she begged for it. Gripping her throat securely, he grinned wildly up at her. “Ride me.” It was hard to get good leverage in their position, Alistair resorting to rolling his length within his ass, but at least he had a better vantage point this way. Of her breasts, bouncing as she eagerly sought her own end. Her rosy lips, slightly parted as she gasped and keened with delight. The blush that radiated from her cheeks down to her stomach. The dark thatch of hair between her legs, that did nothing to cover up the view of himself, sliding in and out of her dripping cunt. Her pink folds, stretched deliciously over his girth. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered in awe as she impaled herself over and over again.

“Cullen, I can’t see,” Alistair huffed. “Tell me.”

“Evelyn,” he whispered hoarsely. “I love watching her when she’s like this. So wild and wanton. What would people say if they saw the Inquisitor riding her Commander’s cock so well, hm? If they saw the way her perfect breasts moved as she fucks herself on me? She’s so wet, Ali,” he groaned. “Come for us, sweetheart. I want to watch you make yourself come.” Her hand slipped down to her pearl at his command, nimble fingers rubbing out a steady rhythm as her hips sped up, the muscles of her stomach and thighs clenching as she grew closer, closer-

“Cullen!” Throwing her head back, Evelyn screamed as sparks danced off her body, both of the men hissing at the sharp shock, her walls crushing his length in a torturous vice-like grip, forcing his own orgasm up from his very soul. With a shattered cry, his vision faded to black along the edges as the candles in the room flared from her magic, pulsing thick ropes of seed deep into her womb. “Oh,” her eyes were wide and unfocused. “That was- Maker.”

“Move up,” Alistair begged. Obliging on shaky limbs, Evelyn eased off of Cullen’s softening length as his chest hit the bed, Alistair finally finding his cadence, furiously pumping into his tight ass, fingers gripping his hips tightly. “Fuck,” he hissed as he found his release. Rubbing a hand over his lover’s sweat soaked back, Alistair smiled. “How was that for a reunion?”

“I can’t feel my legs,” came the muffled response, Evelyn giggling at their side.

“I missed you, Ali,” caressing his cheek, she felt his lips press against her palm.

“I’ve missed you both so much. I know Ki has, too. But! You’re both here now, so we’ll just have to make the most of it,” he replied firmly.

“Stay a little while,” Cullen blinked up at him, his curls matted to his forehead.

“For a bit,” snuggling between them, Alistair almost immediately drifted into the Fade, lost in the embrace of his lovers. Until the stirrings of the servants in the pre-dawn morning awoke him. 

Careful not to disturb the others, still blissfully slumbering, he gathered up his clothes and snuck back into the hallways, dodging the staff wherever he could. Everything ached. His legs, his hips, his abs, his arms. He couldn’t wait to do it again. _Maybe I could convince Kiyone to join_ , he wondered. _Depends on her mood today_. There were some days she still sought physical intimacy, but more often than not in recent weeks, all she wanted to do was sleep, as she rarely was able to rest at all, given how uncomfortable she was. His poor love.

Stumbling blearily into his room, Alistair glanced around in confusion aflutter in the chambers, myriads of servants running in and out, bearing loads of towels and buckets of water. 

“What’s going on?” he demanded from the nearest woman.

“My lady went into labor last night, Your Highness,” she quickly dropped a curtsey. 

“And no one thought to inform me?!” He was livid. He was furious. He was… deeply hurt and ashamed. While he had been canoodling with his lovers, she had been alone, and in pain, and-

“She was adamant that we not disturb you, Your Highness.” Sighing, he nodded. Of course she was. Because that was exactly the kind of stubborn arse she was.

“Will you go tell the Inquisitor and the Commander for me, please?” The servant immediately scampered off, leaving Alistair standing alone, suddenly unsure in the foyer, watching the women flow and in out. Steadily walking into their bedroom, he caught a glimpse of the midwife and the court enchanter at her side, both murmuring soothing words that he could barely hear.

“Hi,” he whispered when he finally reached her. Her face was flushed and red, the thin shift she wore and her hair soaked with sweat and clinging to her trembling body. “You should have sent someone for me last night, Ki.”

“Didn’t want to bother you,” she groaned. “This part takes awhile anyways. Didn’t miss much.”

“Still,” he frowned. “I should have been here.”

“You’re here now.” Her hand unerringly found his, fingers clamping like a vise around his as another wave of contractions hit.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she heard the midwife chide. “It is not permitted.”

“Wait,” Kiyone rasped. “They’re fine. They can stay.”

Tentatively approaching the other mage, Evelyn reached for her mana and asked, “Can I help? I’ve never partaken in a birth before, but I am a healer.”

“I would always welcome help. I’m just trying to keep the babies’ heart rates stable and the princess as comfortable as possible.”

“Did she say babies? As in plural?” Cullen whispered urgently. Alistair nodded.

“Twins.”

“Maker’s breath.”

For hours, there was not much to do for the men, besides let Kiyone crush their hands into oblivion, and absorb all the curses and swears she threw their way, generously including in her rants the entirety of men all over Thedas and every other world in between. It was in the stillness before dawn, when the night is the darkest, that fate began to assert itself.

“One more, Ki, come on,” Evelyn urged. A cry more akin to a wild beast than a human ripped from her throat ash Kiyone gasped for air, the burn crescendoing as she pushed, and fire was all she knew. All she ever knew, past, present, and future. Burning.

A tinny wail broke through the silence of the room. “There’s still one more!” Another push, another cry. “A healthy boy and girl, Your Highness. Well done.”

Alistair took one of the tiny infants in his arm, motioning for the midwife to give the other to Cullen. Both men stared in awe at the little miracles laying in their arms. Perfect little eyes, screwed shut against the sudden light, immaculate little fingers waved around angrily at the lack of warmth in this cold, alien world. “Hello,” Cullen’s voice broke. “Happy birthday, little one.”

“Kiyone! No, no, no, stay with me!” A flare of magic engulfed the bed as Evelyn and the court enchanter struggled to stem the bleeding. 

“What-”

“Not now, Your Highness,” the midwife said firmly. “Both of you need to leave until we stabilize her. We’ll do all we can.”

Stunned, Alistair and Cullen suddenly found themselves locked out of the bedroom, cradling the newborns who were both suddenly squalling, as if they knew what was going on with their mother. 

“Shh, sweet girl,” Cullen murmured. “Mama will be okay, you’ll see.” Alistair could manage no soothing words for the little boy in his arms. He couldn’t feel anything, except a bone chilling terror that suffused his entire being. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this, not when her children- their children needed her, not when he needed her. “Alistair.” A warm hand squeezed his shoulder. “She’s the most stubborn person I know, save you. She’ll be fine.”

"Your Highness?" a tentative voice called from his side. "I need to clean off the babes."

 _I can’t lose her. I can’t._ It was an all too familiar litany that raced through his head. Startled by a tiny hand wrapping around his finger, he gazed down in eyes that were dark and deep, identical to his mother’s. And yet, not. _Cullen's son. My son_. “She’ll be okay. Don’t you worry, Mama is a fighter. Best rogue I know,” his voice cracked. Maybe if he said it enough, he would even start to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O


	34. Chapter 34

A shrill wail shattered the stillness of the early hours, moonbeams quivering as they gleamed through the stained glass window. Muffling his groan, Alistair rolled out of bed with heavy steps, motioning the nursemaid back to her warm bed. Royal he might be, but these were his children, dammit. Shuffling to the nursery, he blinked in surprise as another shadowed figure slipped in right before him, cradling a squalling bundle to his chest.

“There, I’ve got you,” Cullen murmured, rocking the babe to the tune of his low hum. Reaching inside of the other crib, Alistair carefully pulled the other twin out, gazing down into dark eyes intently staring back at him.

“Hi, little Sophia,” he crooned. “Did Gavin wake you up? Such a mean brother.”

“He didn’t mean to,” Cullen frowned. “Isn’t that right?” Settling down, the little boy in his arms merely yawned in response, snuggling against the firm, warm chest to ease back into the Fade. His son. His children, Maker's breath, there were _two_ of them. Each a perfect replica of their mother, tufts of fine black hair on their soft heads, eyes as deep as the midnight sky. There was nothing else he could have asked for. Except, perhaps, to stay with them. Curiously, he tilted his head as the babe squirmed, trying to find the optimal position for sleep. “Alistair, turn your head to the side for a minute. No, the other way.”

Face riddle with perplexity, the prince did as he was told, angling his jaw this way and that until the other was satisfied. “What’s wrong?”

“Gavin. He looks exactly like you from this angle.”

“Let me see,” craning his neck, over Cullen’s shoulder, Alistair studied the infant. “I don’t see it.”

“Well, I see your face much more often than you do,” he rolled his eyes. 

“Hmm. What about Sophia?”

“She… actually reminds me of Rosalie, my sister, when she was born,” Cullen confessed. “I’m not sure. Then again, sometimes Gavin reminds me of Branson as well.”

“I supposed it’s too early to really tell. They both sort of look like nugs to me.” Sophia immediately began to cry. “Cute nugs! I love nugs! It was a compliment!”

“Way to go, Theirin,” shifting the baby, once again awake, onto his shoulder, Cullen glared at his lover, who was now frantically trying to console his tiny daughter.

“I thought the goal of soothing them was to soothe them, not make them more angry,” Evelyn called from the door.

“Alistair insulted Sophia.”

“I didn’t! Nugs are adorable! Everyone loves nugs.”

Peering down at the red-faced child, Evelyn tossed up a small magelight, smiling as the baby instantly went wide eyed and silent at the sight of the floating orb. “You like that, sweetheart? Ugh, Maker's beard, I think she needs a diaper change.”

It was rather endearing, to watch her two strong, masculine warriors being so delicate with their children, fussing over the pot of talcum powder and soft, flannel squares, carefully repinning thick cloth in place. Passing a now clean Sophia to Evelyn, Alistair clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his giggles as Gavin shot a stream of urine directly into Cullen’s face. Spluttering, Cullen frantically reached for a clean towel, as Alistair pressed a kiss to the fuzzy head.

“That’s my boy.” Behind them, Evelyn turned in slow circles, keeping the pale blue light just out of reach of tiny hands, oblivious to the mens’ antics. “Baby looks good on you.”

Smiling down at the little girl, she sighed. “Perhaps one day. Children is something I never dared dream of, but now,” she shrugged. “Everything is changing, especially with Leliana as Divine. It’s strange to think that one day I might have a family of my own.”

“You already do,” Cullen replied softly, settling himself in the rocking chair. As Evelyn placed the other twin on his chest, he felt his heart clench as Gavin reached for his sister, curling his pudgy fingers around hers. “How’s Ki?”

“Still stable,” she murmured.

“Will she wake up soon?” Alistair held his breath. Almost a week now, his wife had lain in a magically induced coma, in a final, desperate attempt to keep her here on Thedas and with her loved ones. There had been too much blood lost, too much strain on her system to birth the twins and her body had fallen into shock. Never had he been more terrified, more helpless than that night. So much blood. He could still see the crimson soaked sheets as the maids carried them away, and unable to keep himself apart any longer, he had burst into the room. So pale. So fragile. Heart barely beating. The image would not leave his memory.

“I don’t know,” Evelyn’s voice was a whisper. “But we’re doing everything we can.”

Sliding down the cold stone wall in despair, Alistair hung his head. How the hell was he supposed to do this without her? All his fault. His fault, his fault, his-

“It’s not your fault.” He didn’t move. Kneeling beside him, Evelyn gently ran her fingers through his copper blonde locks. “Do you know what Kiyone told me, right before she faded? ‘Tell Alistair not to blame himself. I have known love like no other, and I would not give up our life for anything’. Everything was her choice, and she knew it. She loves you, more than anything, and you, Cullen, and your babies. And because of that love, I know she’s still fighting, trying to get back to both of you. To all of us.”

He knew it, deep down in his soul, that she was a warrior at heart. His beautiful, sweet, fierce, foul-mouthed princess. If anyone could make it out of this, she would. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that threatened to consume his soul at the thought of losing her. The babies needed her. _He_ needed her.

“Eyes sorrow blinded, in darkness unbroken. There upon the mountain, a voice answered my call, “Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing, an ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. You have forgotten, prince of Ferelden, within My creation, none are alone’.” Cullen’s low baritone echoed faintly into the night.

“You changed it,” came the sniffled response. “Pretty sure that’s blasphemy.”

“Andraste understands, I’m sure,” he retorted.

“Cullen, sing something else,” Evelyn urged. “I think they like it.” Glancing down, he saw two sets of wide, bright eyes, staring in fascination back at him.

“Alright,” kissing each of their heads in turn, he thought. There was that song Kiyone used to sing every now and then. He smiled as he remembered the night she had taught him the lyrics. It was just the two of them, before Evelyn had come into their lives, while Alistair had been off on one of his missions in the far corners of Ferelden. Just content to hold her, savoring the feel of her skin on his and listen to her beautiful voice, the song she had sung struck him to his very core. Closing his eyes, his heart recalled the words, one by one.

_“Find me here, and speak to me. I want to feel you, I need to hear you. You are the light, that’s leading me to the place where I find peace again._

_You are the strength that keeps me walking. You are the hope that keeps me trusting. You are the light to my soul. You are my purpose, you’re everything._

_How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you? Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?_

_You calm the storms and give me rest. You hold me in your hands, you won’t let me fall. You steal my heart, and you take my breath away. Would you take me in, take me deeper now._

_And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you? Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?_

_Because you’re all I want, you’re all I need. You’re everything, everything.”_

Smiling through his tears, Alistair leaned his head against the wall. “She used to sing that sometimes. When the nightmares from the Calling got particularly bad, she would sing me every song she knew trying to distract me. Are they sleeping?”

They were. Cheeks and lips squished against the thin cotton shirt he wore, quiet breaths puffing along his skin, both of their hands still intertwined. “Help me get them in bed?” As if they were handling a lit barrel of gaatlok, the men eased the babies up slowly, laying them softly on cool silk sheets, tucking a cozy knitted square around each. The room was filled with little touches like these from their friends- blankets from Josephine, two little stuffed nugs from Leliana, carved wooden griffons from Warden Rainier, a picture book from Varric, a tinkling bell mobile from Fenris, a shimmering glowing crystal nightlight from Dorian, shiny little odds and ends from Isabela, most likely stolen, a random assortment of puppets from Sera, and two rattles enchanted to glow from Hawke, just to name a few. 

Coming up behind Alistair, Evelyn squeezed him around his torso, laying her head against his back. “Come stay with us?”

A low exhale collapsed his chest. “Not tonight.” It had been the same since the twins arrived. Without Kiyone, he couldn’t bring himself to find comfort in the others. It didn’t feel right, with her lying there in her room alone, so cold and still, while he was warm with them.

Murmuring in Evelyn’s ear, Cullen gave her a quick kiss before she slipped out of the nursery. “Come on. You’re staying with me tonight.” Holding up a hand to silence the objections he knew were about to roll off of Alistair’s tongue, he grabbed his wrist and tugged him outside into the hall. “You know what Kiyone would say. Stop-”

“Being an ass, I know, I know. It’s just… hard. With her like this.” Dull, hollow pale blue eyes glowed in the low torchlight. 

“She’d want you to take care of yourself. We want you to take care of yourself, Alistair,” Cullen pressed his forehead to his lover’s, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, “Don’t push me away. Please.”

It was a rare thing, to see the Commander this vulnerable. In fact, Alistair could not recall a single time he had ever seen Cullen so open with his feelings, pleading in such a manner. Even in the throes of intimacy, there was always a wall. Sometimes his barrier was thinner and lower than usual, but it always there, waiting, guarding. Cupping his chiseled jaw, he ran a thumb over the marred flesh just above his lip. _That damn scar_. “Have it your way.”

He could feel Cullen’s relief rushing over him like a warm ray of sunshine. Letting himself be led, their footsteps fell softly against the plush carpeted runner, not a soul in sight at this late hour. No one to see. Not like the servants particularly cared, after all. He was a royal, and was expected to have certain idiosyncrasies. Like multiple lovers. _Nobles and their indiscretions_ , he snorted to himself. Although it did come in handy for him.

Stoking the embers in the dying fire, Cullen gently shoved the weary prince into the bedchamber, helping him to peel off his tunic and loose shorts. “Get in the bed.”

“You’re bossy,” Alistair mumbled.

“When I have to be.” Similarly clad in just a thin layer of smallclothes, Cullen crawled onto the other side of the mattress, feeling the feathers beneath him dip and mold to his bulk. Hands automatically reached for muscled shoulders, currently curled in over himself, huddled against the satin sheets, and pulled back, fitting back to chest, wrapping arms, legs, body around his lover.

Alistair always loved holding Kiyone like this, her snuggled up to his chest, his larger form cradling hers. It made him feel strong, like he was the protector she saw in him. Her complete and utter trust in him never ceased to amaze him. Yet this… This is how she must feel, nestled in his embrace. Warm. Safe. Loved. Sheltered. Like Cullen was his shield, his guardian from all things that would dare threaten his happiness. It was nice, he realized. And cozy. Suddenly, a thought struck him.

“How have you been doing without her?”

He didn’t have to mention what it was to which he was referring; it was obvious Cullen knew by the way his muscles slightly tensed. “There have been… a few occasions that were rough. Evelyn has done as much as she was comfortable with, but…” his breath blew out in a rush against Alistair’s neck. “It’s gotten better. With Corypheus gone, the red templars and Venatori scattered, and most of the nobility evicted from Skyhold, my burdens have lessened considerably. And the withdrawals have a reached a point where they are barely noticeable now. So, I don’t need her as often as I used to, but there are days.”

Shifting around, Alistair turned so that he was facing Cullen, so close he could feel the individual hairs of his chest brushing his own, feel the heat radiating off his skin, considerably lessened from the last time they had been together in Skyhold. “She misses you, as well. We both do. And Evelyn. I wish-” Eyelids fluttered closed as his brow furrowed. “Well, you know. I wish you could come stay here. I need you. You are…” _My everything. You are the person who reminds me of who I was, who I once wanted to be, back when I was young and naive and idealistic. I need that reminder, more than anything now, as these vultures descend upon me, trying to mold me into a compliant little puppet to suit their needs. You were always my backbone, my conscience. My hero._

All the things he wanted to say jumbled up and froze at the tip of his tongue. Wordlessly opening his mouth, he snapped it shut again in a pique of frustration. “I know,” Cullen’s smile was tender, his amber eyes piercing into his soul, reading all the things he was holding back. He knew. Of course, he already knew. “Me too.”

Unbidden, the words he didn't even dare think up to this point slipped out. “What will I do if she dies?”

Cullen froze. What would Alistair do? What would he do? Evelyn? “You survive. You hold onto the love she had for you. I never knew one person was capable of loving so damn much until I met her and she showed me otherwise. So you take that love, and you raise our babies in her memory. You raise them how she wanted them to be raised, happy, strong, kind, and knowing they are cherished more than anything else in this Maker forsaken world. You take the throne and be the king she always saw in you. You live, and you laugh, and you thrive because she would accept no less.”

Alistair knew he was right. Kiyone would be furious if she knew he was breaking like this. But she would understand, right? To be without the other half of your soul… She would allow him to mourn. And then she’d kick his ass. He had their children to think about now. They deserved a father who was present in their lives. And hadn’t he sworn to be the best father he could be? “Alright. I can do that.”

“I know you can,” soft lips brushed against his cheek. “You are stronger than you realize, my love.”

If he was, why didn’t he feel like it? “I just need her to get better.”

“So do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line Cullen paraphrases is Andraste 1:7. The song is Lifehouse's Everything, taking me back to high school. *shudder*
> 
> Having trouble finishing the next two chapters. I think I'm smutted out. So far we've hit 22 chapters of smut, out of 36 total chapters. Feel free to send the smut muse to hit me.


	35. Chapter 35

The grass was springy and warm from the summer sun under his hands, a cool breeze ruffling his loose linen tunic, the perfect summer day. Well, it would have been perfect if they hadn’t been in Halamshiral, but Cullen would take what he got. Grinning, he watched the twins as they chased each other across the lawn on unsteady feet, Gavin crashing into Sophia, sending them both sprawling to the ground in a heap of giggles.

Sophia was truly his daughter, in both appearance and manner. Her locks was the same raven black as her mother’s, but fell around her face in a riot of curls that reminded him so much of his own sisters. And if the sun shone on her bright eyes just so, the glint of deep amber could be seen within. Cautious where her brother was not, Sophia was the calm and even tempered one, whereas her brother was every bit his father’s child- mischievous and wild, with a freckled nose and impish grin that were the twin of the man who reclined to his left, the gold of his coronet glinting in the sun. Even his messy, black hair shone copper in the light. Neither knew how it happened. Maker’s breath, he hadn’t even known it was possible. None of them did. But someone the Maker had blessed them with a child of their own, for both of them. The whispers and gossips at court had speculated for months as each child’s features became identifiable, but no one could agree, as it was impossible to deny that Gavin was a Theirin, through and through.

“How’s Anora doing?”

Alistair shrugged, his eyes remaining closed as he soaked up the rare peaceful day. “Her pregnancy is progressing as normal, even with how sick she’s been. I can’t believe she actually conceived with her multitude of health issues. How do you lie with someone who’s practically on her deathbed?”

“Duty, right,” Cullen snorted. “So, will she make it?”

“Prognosis is the same as ever,” he sighed. “No one knows. But no one is optimistic about the strain that birth will put her on her body. So we remained here in limbo, and get to be ambassadors to the Exalted Council, yaaay. Gavin, don’t hit your sister.”

“Papa!” A set of curls came flying at Cullen, sobbing tiny tears of hysteria. “Ouchie.”

“Where does it hurt, sweetheart,” he pulled her into his lap. Lip trembling, she showed him the side of her pinky finger, where a thin pink line marred her perfect skin. Bringing the abused finger to his lips, he gently placed a kiss over it. “There, all better.”

“Dada, kiss,” turning to Alistair, she imperiously demanded his affection, waiting impatiently until he had bestowed upon her finger his own healing kiss. Throwing her arms around both of their necks in turn, Sophia laid a series of matching, wet, sloppy kisses all over their faces before scrambling back into the tornado that was her brother. Only eighteen months they had been in Cullen’s life, albeit intermittently as his duties permitted, yet he could scarcely remember a time without them. His babies, for both of the men considered both of the twins to be theirs, were his everything. Well, almost everything. Craning his neck behind him, Cullen smiled and held out a hand, watching as pale fingers slip into his.

“All settled in?”

Evelyn nodded, dropping to the blanket wearily. “It promises to be a thrilling week of yelling and bribery at least. Orlais wants us to remain, keep us under their thumb. While Ferelden-”

“Says good riddance to you lot,” Alistair grinned. “Honestly, your work is done. Time to kick back, relax, move to Denerim. Kiyone says it’s your turn to make babies because she’s done, so we need you to get on that. Literally.”

“Where is Ki, anyways?” Cullen asked. “I haven’t seen her yet.”

“She’s doing His Highness’ job for him,” Evelyn replied dryly.

“Hey,” Alistair protested. “She’s so much better at diplomacy than me. And she ordered me to go spend time with Cullen. I dare not refuse the princess. She’s mean, you know.”

“Evvy!” A set of squealing toddlers barreled into the Inquisitor at full speed, knocking the wind out of her as they pushed her to the ground. “Auntie, present?” Gavin asked hopefully.

Chuckling, Evelyn reached into her pocket, withdrawing two fresh oranges from within. Gasping in delight, the children both snatched up a bright orange orb, sprinting off with their treasures before any of the adults had a chance to peel them.

“Don’t eat the rind,” Cullen frowned as he watched Gavin tentatively licking the orange peel. “And say thank you!”

“They’ll figure it out,” Alistair smiled.

“Atalanta made a new friend.” Hands clasped demurely in front of her, Kiyone’s face was warm and bright as she approached her lovers, the navy silk of her gown trailing over the grass, the pale silver circlet braided into her locks. She looked every bit the royal now, Cullen noted wistfully. But there was still a hint of the rogue she had been, sparkling behind her eyes. Two weeks, the longest days that any of the others had ever experienced, she had lain in her coma. Unconscious. Frozen. And just when the healers were about to give up hope, Alistair in a last ditch attempt had brought the twins in to see her, laying them on her barely rising chest. Instantly, the babies had snuggled into her familiar scent, rooting around for the milk they smelled with the tiniest whimpers and snuffles. And she had moved. He had stared in shock as her arm rose to wrap around her children, holding them closer to her. Whispering her name in her ear, Alistair had _sobbed_ as she finally opened her beautiful eyes, and smiled radiantly up at him. For once, hope had paid off.

Glancing behind her, Cullen raised his eyebrow at the sight her faithful mabari trotting alongside her, leading another, slightly smaller dog who was every bit as handsome as she. “Some stupid Orlesian abandoned him,” she shrugged.

Completely ignoring Alistair’s outstretched palm, the mabari settled firmly in front of Cullen, cocking his head as he studied the human before flipping over onto his back, waiting expectantly. Surprised, Cullen did as he was bade and rubbed the exposed belly to the dog’s delight. “Looks like you have a new friend as well,” the prince remarked.

He glanced up and gazed around him. This moment was perfect. Gifted with the affection of a mabari, his little family gathered around him, his children spitting pieces of orange rind into the grass- this was all more than he ever dared dream. And yet… Reaching into his pocket, he felt the cool band of gold that was nestled inside. _Now or never, Rutherford_. Patting the dog on his head, Cullen rose up to his knees and twisted until he was facing Evelyn.

“I…” Her face was puzzled, as was Alistair’s, but Kiyone, of course she knew instantly. Eyes widening, she clapped a hand over her mouth to restrain her squeals of excitement and slapped her husband square in his chest, to his complete and total confusion. All of his words had fled now. What was he going to say, _dammit Rutherford, think, think_ \- “Marry me.”

“What?”

“Marry me,” he replied simply. “I… had a speech. Although for the life of me, I can’t remember a single word now. Just- marry me. I love you, I’ve loved you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. You complete my life in a way I didn’t even know I was lacking until you stepped in. Or rather, until Kiyone dragged you in,” he amended, scar turned up in a smirk at the memory. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and this crazy life we have together. So, marry me.”

“Yes,” Evelyn whispered. “Yes yes yes YES!” Laughing, she tackled him to the ground, kissing every square inch her lips could reach. “When?”

“Now?” he grinned.

“Now,” she agreed. “Will both of you come?”

Kiyone nodded enthusiastically as Alistair deadpanned, “No, I thought we’d skip out on our best friends’ wedding, terribly dull affair and- oof!” Wincing, he rubbed the spot his wife punched again. “I was joking, Ki, of course we’re going. Kids, come on! Papa and Auntie are getting married.”

“Married, married,” they both chanted, both of them wrapping their little bodies around Cullen’s legs.

“I think they missed you,” Kiyone observed.

“What about me,” Evelyn pouted.

“I think your legs are too hard to find in all that dress,” Cullen laughed. “Alright you lot, I can’t walk like this.”

Tossing Gavin up onto his shoulders, Cullen passed a willing Sophia to Evelyn to carry. “Help me find Mother Giselle?”

“There!”

“That’s a nobleman, Gavin.”

“Mmm… There!”

“That’s a servant.”

“There?”

“...That’s a tree.”

The boy attempted a few more tries of pointing out every object along the way before Evelyn spotted the Revered Mother, deep in conversation with Cassandra, seated on the edge of a sparkling fountain. It only took seconds for Cullen and Evelyn to make their request, before they both hurried back. “She’s free in about two hours.”

“Right at sunset, how romantic,” Kiyone sighed. Then, “That gives us just enough time! Come on, hurry up!” Grabbing Evelyn’s hand, the princess all but dragged the Inquisitor into the palace behind her, Cullen staring after the pair, bewildered at the mad dash.

Chuckling, Alistair clapped him on the shoulder. “My bet is that Kiyone’s rushed off to play dress up with your fianceé.”

“Oh,” glancing down at his own plain attire, Cullen frowned. “Should I change?”

“I may have something that will fit. Come on.”

The garden was bathed in the warm, golden glow of the last rays of sunshine by the time the men made it back out, taking their place beside Mother Giselle under the gazebo, smiling and murmuring their thanks to the Chantry woman.

“Maker’s breath, what is taking them so long? I didn’t think Kiyone nor Evelyn were the type to care much appearances,” Cullen grumbled.

“Evelyn might not be, but Kiyone,” he laughed, “That is a completely different story. Back in our adventuring days, she made do with what he had and never complained, but as soon as she was given access to the seamstresses of Denerim and encouraged to have a wardrobe to rival the Empress’, it was a lost cause at that point. I think that’s them there. Oh, by the way, you look absolutely delicious in Theirin colors,” purring in his ear, Cullen’s face flushed to match the rich crimson jacket he was carefully buttoned into, awkwardly shifting his weight.

“Alistair, did your arms get smaller? I could have sworn they were bigger than mine, but these sleeves are really tight.”

“Shut it,” Alistair grunted. “Kiyone still appreciates my body, no matter how soft I get.” Truth be told, Alistair had only lost a little of his previous bulk, as his life was now about fighting a different sort of battle and his current duties left precious little time to train. But he still managed when he could since he was loathe to lose his skills, carefully honed over the last two decades. Pleased with his little victory, Cullen turned his attention back to the pathway, eagerly trying to get a glimpse of his future bride. Yet his view was impeded by the figure of a petite, silk clad woman who was smiling like a cat who caught the canary until they were both upon him. Gracefully, Kiyone inclined her head to the men and moved to the opposite side.

All the blood instantly left his head, leaving him breathless, and quite faint. Evelyn was stunning. Her dress was the color of pure, fresh snow slashed with rubies, interwoven gold threads glittering in the fading light. Her mass of deep brown curls had been piled elegantly atop her head like a crown, a few tendrils escaping to lie temptingly against the creamy expanse of her pale throat. Bright green eyes sparkled up from beneath lids lightly lined with kohl. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he managed to croak back. “You look...” Perfect. Gorgeous. Beautiful. They all fell short of the feeling he wanted to convey. _You look like the first rays of sunshine and blue sky after a long storm. The warmth of the sun after a harsh winter. The sound of children laughing. A lungful of air to the drowning man. A pardon to the man on the gallows. The first time you told me you loved me. A gentle hug and kiss._ She was all of those things, and more, wrapped up into one, amazing person. And she wanted to marry _him_. "Incredible."

“Are we ready?”

“We are, Mother,” Evelyn squeezed his hand.

“Very well, let us proceed.”

*** 

Cullen growled as he shoved Evelyn up against the door of their room, leaving a trail of wet, messy kisses down her tempting neck, pinning her in place with his large frame. “Husband,” she sighed, lust darkening her emerald eyes.

“Wife,” he smirked. “Mine now.”

“Silly man,” she smiled sweetly up at him. “I’ve always been yours. Since I first laid eyes on you in Haven.”

It was a heady thought, to realize that she had wanted him just as long as he had ached for her. And now she was here, a matching gold band to his own around her finger. Unlacing her dress with deft precision, he released her from the prison of his arms. “Get undressed and on the bed. I’ll be right back.” Raising an eyebrow, Evelyn slowly sauntered away, making sure to roll her hips as she walked, her dress sliding off pale shoulders to reveal the perfect curve of her spine. 

Struggling to remember what it was he wanted to do, Cullen forced himself out into the hallways with a throaty groan. _That woman is going to be the death of me_. Not that he minded in the least bit. Knocking on a door just a ways down, he smiled as Kiyone pulled the gilded partition open.

“What the hell are you doing here? Go bed your wife, you idiot!”

“I wanted to make this a night for her to remember,” leaning casually against the frame, his relaxed appearance was completely at odds with the storm raging inside of him. “Thought you and Alistair might be willing to help out. After all, it’s thanks to your meddling that we even ended up here.”

“You’re welcome,” Kiyone sniffed. “Are you sure? Alright then. I’ll go tell Emily to watch after the twins. We’ll be right there.”

Practically sprinting back to his room, he pounced on Evelyn as soon as he slipped back in, startling her as he grabbed her from behind. “What was that about?”

“I had to arrange your wedding present,” he murmured against the back of her neck, nuzzling the fine hairs at the base of her neck.

“My wedding- Oh,” eyes widening as she watched Alistair and Kiyone close the door behind him, Evelyn felt the familiar tug of anticipation unfurling in her belly. Without saying a word, hands tugged at laces and hems, flinging bits of clothing off as lips and fingers traveled over every inch of her body, until all that was left was the press of skin on skin. Eyelids slowly fluttered closed at the sensation of soft lips nibbling over the curve of her breasts, dipping down lower to taste her dusky, pink tips, teeth gently worrying at the sensitive buds.

“That’s it, wife,” Cullen’s voice rumbled low and deep in his voice. “Surrender to us.”

She couldn’t have resisted even had she tried. She was their willing slave tonight, allowing them to lead her where the desired. Kiyone smiled as she tugged on Evelyn’s wrist, gently pushing her breasts down onto the bed, leaving her bare ass hanging in the air to tempt the men while she slid down the edge of the bed to the floor and licked a slow path up her seam. Grabbing the vial of oil from the table, Alistair coated his fingers and her shadowed hole before plunging a slick finger inside of her. 

It was on the edge of too much attention, the feeling of his rough fingers prying her open and her soft, wet tongue tracing swirling lines across her folds, lapping up her arousal with a throaty moan. Smirking as he watched Evelyn’s face contort in pleasure, Cullen kneeled on the edge on the bed, idly stroking himself. “Open for me, sweetheart.” Immediately, her mouth dropped open to accept his thick length, the velvety skin sliding against her lips as he pressed into her.

Moaning around his heavy cock, Evelyn cried out as she felt another finger breach her from behind and two more slender fingers slip inside of her dripping cunt, teasing her as they curled and pumped in and out of her. Cullen hissed as her throat vibrated around him again, Alistair smoothing his free hand over back. “She’s close,” he muttered. “I can feel it.”

Instantly, all the sensation halted as her three lovers pulled away. “No,” Evelyn whimpered, sagging against the bed. “Please, I-” She cut off mid-plea as a thick cock slammed into her, hilting deep inside of her sopping cunt and she _screamed_. Chuckling as he tugged on her loose, silken waves, pulling her back against his chest, Alistair gently bit one of her earlobes, her breathy sigh making him twitch insider of her.

“Easy, love. Relax.” When her walls finally eased around him, he pulled out and crawled up onto the bed where Cullen lay, watching the pair through eyes dark as the night outside, the single candle in the room reflecting in his amber depths. “Should I fuck her for you?”

“Mm,” Cullen sighed, running his hands over Alistair’s firm chest. “I think she can take both of us.” Her eyes widened at that.

“Come on, love,” Kiyone whispered in her ear. Tugging her onto the bed, she gripped Evelyn’s hips and positioned them over Alistair’s waiting erection, and shoved her down, _hard_. The world went blindingly white as she burned with the stretch, her hands finding her own breasts and squeezing in a feeble attempt to alleviate the intensity of everything she was feeling. Pushing her forward, Cullen scooted up behind her, groaning as Kiyone’s oiled hands stroked his own hardened length. Her fingers guided him to his wife's puckered hole, then withdrew to let him push inside, one slow, long, smooth stroke until his hips were snug against her ass.

“Full,” Evelyn gasped. It was incredible. For a minute, she thought she was going rip in two, shattered from the pressure of so much of her lovers inside of her. Then they began to move. And all she knew was the sweet ache of pleasure.

Cullen could do this forever, he thought. He could feel Alistair sliding against his own cock, his legs rubbing against his own, Evelyn’s ring of muscle gripping him tight. All that was missing was-

Delicate fingers grazed over his back, drifting lower to the cleft of his ass, his body tensing under the soft touch. “Easy, lover,” Kiyone’s gentle voice drifted towards him. Rubbing her slick hands against him, she slowly worked a finger in, then two, before withdrawing both to press a kiss to the bottom of his spine. “You don’t even need me to prepare you.” He could hear the smirk in her voice.

Suddenly, he felt the smooth grain of the wooden dildo press into him, his hips stuttering against Evelyn as Kiyone eased him open. “Now, that’s a lovely sight,” Alistair was transfixed by Cullen’s face, his eyelids screwed shut as he grasped for control and his hands digging into the other man’s thighs, imprinting bruises into the muscled flesh. With a flick of her wrist, Kiyone set a leisurely place, in stark contrast to the frantic thrusts of the men, Evelyn helpless to do anything except ride out their possession of her.

Groaning, straining, sweating. Fingers clutching, pulling, scratching. Eyes hungry, fathomless, roving. It was passion, it was frantic, it was torture. It was love. A love so deep, it had transcended everything the world had thrown at them so far, buoyed by the deep-seated knowledge that what they had was true, and so very rare. All equally valued and treasured, none surviving without the other. A purpose, a home. Family.

Evelyn came first, in a throaty moan that sent shivers down Cullen’s entire body, her hair gripped tightly in his fist as he yanked her head back, exposing her throat so Alistair could wrap one broad hand around the smooth skin. The sensation of her muscles clenching around him sent her newly wedded husband to the edge of his own precipice, but it was Kiyone’s attention to his pleasure that make him roar as he spilled deep inside of Evelyn, filling her womb with what seemed like an endless stream of his spend. Stilling so as to not irritate their overly sensitive flesh, Alistair smiled lazily at the pile of his lovers now collapsed over him, grunting and panting for sanity.

A small whimper escaped Cullen as Kiyone pulled out the dildo and ran a soothing hand over the old scars on his back. Turning his head so that his cheek was pressed against his wife’s back, he opened one eye as she clambered onto the bed next to the sweaty group and brushed the face out of Evelyn’s hair. “How are you,” she murmured softly.

Sighing blissfully, Evelyn managed to make a small noise of pure contentment. A deep chuckle rumbled through Alistair’s chest as he propped himself up on his elbows. “This is sweet and all, but I really can’t breathe.”

“Sorry,” Cullen mumbled as he slowly eased himself off, pulling Evelyn on top of him as he rolled over. “You haven’t-? He motioned to Alistair’s still erect cock, the skin glistening with Evelyn’s arousal.

“Mm. Saving it.” And with that, he pounced on Kiyone, drawing a sharp squeal from her lips as he flipped her into the air, and settled her over his lap, his back against the headboard. Gripping the edge of the wooden frame behind Alistair, she smiled as she rolled her hips against him, feeling how close he was already. “Tease,” he mumbled at her slow pace.

“I’m sorry,” she smirked, raising herself up until only the tip was left inside of her, shallowly fucking just the most sensitive part of him.

“I can’t-” gasping, he wrenched back control from her, his fingers tightening in an iron grip over her hip bones, and _slammed_ her down onto his rock hard girth, hissing as she screamed. “You need to come,” he snarled. “ _Now_.”

Sending up a thank you to the gods that she was always so obedient, by some miracle he managed to hold on as she spasmed around him, letting her just barely ride out the wave of her orgasm before shouting his own end, gasping as his balls emptied inside of her.

“That was a pretty sight,” Evelyn grinned.

Cullen nodded his approval from where he was tucked around her back. “The best.”

“So you enjoyed your wedding gift?” Alistair drawled, Kiyone giggling as the other woman flushed a bright crimson.

“I, um, did,” she squeaked. “It was… nice.”

“Nice,” Kiyone snorted. “She got railed by the two most handsome, well-endowed men in all of Thedas, and it was _nice_.”

“You think I’m handsome,” Alistair sang out with a cheesy grin. Lifting her head to bite the line of his jaw, she rolled her eyes at his dancing eyes. 

“And insufferable. Ridiculous. Stubborn.”

“Terrible sense of humor,” Cullen chimed in. “Bad taste in cheese.”

“Hey! Evelyn, defend me!”

Patting his hand, Evelyn grinned up at him. “Alistair isn’t all bad, guys. He does have excellent taste in bed partners.”

“Of course he does,” Cullen scoffed. “Who can resist us?”

“As I recall,” Kiyone raised an eyebrow. “You resisted us at first.”

“Shhh,” he leaned up to place a palm over her mouth. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“Alistair is rubbing off on you,” Evelyn observed.

“I certainly hope so,” the prince responded in his most courtly voice. “‘Twould be-” A piercing wail shattered their pillow talk banter, followed mere seconds later by another voice lending itself to the cacophony. “Duty calls.”

Holding her arms out, Evelyn smirked at the men as she pulled Kiyone closer to her and buried her face in her breasts. “You boys got this one, right? We’ll just wait on you right here.”

“We’ve been abandoned,” Cullen groaned. “Come on, Your Highness.” The women felt their hearts warm as they watching as their men threw on breeches and disappeared, walking on slightly trembling legs.

“How did we ever get so lucky?”

“Fate? Chance? Whatever it is, I don’t question it. I’m just grateful that we all ended up here.”

“I suppose we deserve some sort of happiness after everything.”

“So handsome, well-endowed blonde Ferelden Chantry boys are our reward?”

Their soft giggles faded into the silence as the impertinent screams of the children subsided as their fathers entered the nursery. Whatever had happened to bring her here, to this death and war ridden world, Kiyone knew. She would not trade a single moment of her life for anything in this life or the next.

*** 

Conjuring up his best, fake royal smile, and wishing his collar was a tad bit looser, Alistair made the rounds through the vast chamber, bestowing a genuine grin towards Leliana, now Divine Victoria. “Nice hat,” he whispered in her ear as he slid past her.

“I will still shank you,” her gracious smile never left her face. Feeling more than a little unnerved, he quickly made his way over to his chair just two seats away, high on the dais, Kiyone taking the seat next to him moments later. As Evelyn, Cullen, and Josephine mingled through the crowd, slowing making their way to take their place in the center, a messenger slipped in through a side door, winding his way through the dispersing crowd of nobility.

“Your Highness, urgent missive for you.” Taking the scroll from the man, Alistair ran a thumb under the wax seal bearing his family’s crest.

“Oh, Maker.” His hands shook.

Heart suddenly pounding in her throat, Kiyone reached for his hand. “Alistair? What is it?”

Lowering the paper as if it suddenly weighed a the same as a dragonling, Alistair exhaled. “Anora. She’s dead.”

“Anora?” Cullen appeared in front of the table. Taking the parchment from the other man’s hand, he quickly scanned the contents. “Maker bless the queen.” He raised his amber gaze to Alistair’s pale blue eyes, an indecipherable expression on his face. “And long live the king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heteropaternal superfecundation- a real thing where a set of twins have different fathers.
> 
> Probably the longest chapter I've written so far. It's been mostly written for a few weeks now, but I finally got it right I think. One more cliffhanger, mainly because there's only one chapter left, and that'll be a wrap. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me so far through this smut filled depraved story. I love you all.


	36. Chapter 36

“Sorry, Commander!”

“Not Commander anymore!” Cullen shook his head ruefully as the father pulled his child from the path, neatly avoiding a crash collision. Arms piled high with crates, it was a tricky affair to navigate the unfamiliar terrain here in their new town of Saorsa, and more often than not, he found himself blindly stumbling down the road.

“This way,” a familiar voice called. “Turn left. Your other left!”

Grinning sheepishly, Cullen set down his heavy load on the floor, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of freshly hewn wood. “My thanks, wife.”

“You could carry less next time, you know,” Evelyn rolled her eyes. “And not risk tripping over your own fool neck.”

“It’s more efficient like this,” he protested.

“Commander! Supply train just arrived. Where’d you want all this crap?”

“Oh for the love of- Rylen! That is not my title anymore. I’m just Cullen now, please,” he practically begged.

“Sure thing, Commander,” his former lieutenant winked at Evelyn. Muttering under his breath about idiotic, stubborn Starkhaven templars, Cullen followed the other man outside, chuckling as he surveyed the caravan.

“Rylen. Did you just refer to the heir to the throne of Ferelden as ‘crap’?”

“Sure did,” he drawled.

“Should I be offended? I feel like I should be offended.” Hopping down off the high bench of the wagon, Alistair strode over to the men, clapping both on the back in a hearty hug as Atalanta hopped in circles around them. 

“Papa!” Two tiny figures quickly tumbled down in quick succession, tripping over their own feet in their haste to reach their other father.

“Papa?” Rylen asked curiously.

“We tried to get them to call him Uncle, but it never stuck,” Kiyone shrugged nonchalantly as she walked up at a more sedate pace, pulling Evelyn into a warm embrace. “He’s practically their father anyways, with how much he spoils them, just like Alistair.”

“It’s not my fault they’ve got me wrapped around their fingers,” Alistair grinned unrepentantly as the twins climbed Cullen like a tree. “It’s yours, for making such adorable kids. So, which one’s ours?”

“Further back,” Cullen pointed to a small path that wound alongside the small creek into the woods. “Figured you’d both like your privacy after living at the palace for so long. Let me get these supplies sorted and I’ll take you there. Lanta, watch the kids for us, will you girl?” As the mabari bounded off after her charges, he grabbed the manifest and began checking off the items as he found them, handling crates to whoever was closest to take to its appropriate location. “Rest of these are for the clinic. Alistair, give me hand?”

Hefting the box of gently clinking vials up, Alistair followed the man down the main path into a spacious, newly constructed building, the vast room lined with a few dozen cots, with a smaller room off to one side holding two long workbenches and a massive cabinet that reached the ceiling.

“Is this where we’ll be?” Kiyone glanced around the space.

“It is. The new healer’s clinic of Saorsa,” Evelyn waved her hand around proudly. “We’ll have everything we need in here to treat the worst of the withdrawals as they come. Then, once they’re functioning again, Cullen will get them.”

“Put them to work doing manual labor, working the fields, learning a trade. Keep their bodies strong and mind sharp,” Cullen set his burden down in the back room. “Maker’s breath, but I can’t believe the two of you are actually here to stay. I had thought for sure they’d make you regent.”

Hugging Kiyone to his side, Alistair beamed at the other couple. “They offered, but Eamon would do a far better job at it than I. And Teagan and his wife adore little Frederick and have taken a great interest in the baby, since she is still barren. It’ll be good for all of them. I mean, I’m still technically the heir,” he shrugged. “But with any luck, aside from the odd Landsmeet or ball that they manage to coerce me into attending, I won’t ever have to step foot inside the palace again.”

“And we’re only a day and a half’s ride from Denerim if they truly do need us,” Kiyone added. “So, house?” she bounced hopefully in place.

“Right this way, my lady,” Evelyn curtseyed, starting to hold out her left arm before she realized. Immediately taking her right side, still intact, Kiyone gave her a reassuring squeeze. 

“It’ll be okay, Ev.”

“I know, it’s just,” she waved the stump around, frowning at the place where her left hand and the mark used to be. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to it. It’s been so difficult doing even the most basic tasks, like dressing myself or eating or-” Feeling the tears welling up again, the former Inquisitor fell silent.

“You have us to help, as much as you need,” Kiyone murmured. “And you’re still you. We still love you. Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed,” her smile was grim. 

“Looks like they’ve made friends already,” Alistair called back to the women, pointing ahead where the twins were happily rolling around in the dirt with four other children belonging to the craftsmens’ families that had recently moved into Saorsa as well. 

“Gavin, Sophia, would you like to go see our new home?”

“No!”

“No, thank you.”

“I don’t mind keeping an eye on them, my lady,” a nearby woman smiled shyly. “They’re getting along just fine with my boys.”

“Would you?” Kiyone smiled sweetly at the young mother. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“She sounds like nobility now,” Cullen stage whispered behind her. 

“She’s practically one of them,” Alistair rasped back. “Even almost _likes_ talking about fancy hats and who's marrying whom now.”

“I can hear both of you, you know,” huffing in feigned annoyance, she turned back to glare at them. As they glanced around in innocence, Kiyone shook her head, smiling at Evelyn as they took the side path down into the woods. “Oh, this is pretty.” 

The late afternoon sunlight filtered down through the leaves, casting bright shadows on the mossy ground and reflecting off the water like a thousand tiny diamonds all afire along this small tributary of the Hafter River. Closing her eyes, the sounds of the burgeoning town soon fell away, muffled by the forest around them, leaving only the gentle rushing of the river as it crashed over rocks along its way and the song of birds, high up in the canopy.

“Peaceful,” Evelyn agreed. “Especially after everything. Well, this is it.” The trees opened up into a small clearing, just big enough to have two cabins placed at opposite ends, giving each house plenty of privacy, one being noticeably larger than the other. “That one’s yours, obviously,” she motioned to the bigger cottage. “And we’re over here.”

“So far from the town,” Alistair raised a cocky eyebrow.

“So no one can hear your screams,” Cullen winked as he led them inside. “I know it’s a bit smaller than what you’re used to, Your Highness-”

“Shut it.”

“But I hope this humble abode will appease your noble sensitivities,” he leapt out of range of Kiyone’s swipe, laughing as he hid behind Alistair.

“Oh, no, I’ll not be your sacrificial shield,” her husband ducked behind Evelyn instead, leaving Cullen open for Kiyone’s pounce. Ducking her outstretched arms, he grabbed ahold of her wrists and easily twisted her into place, pinning her against the wall, still slightly sticky with sap.

“Got you,” he murmured as he nuzzled her neck.

“The question is, what will you do with me,” she purred in response.

“Tonight.” His voice was mellow, rumbling through her veins, full of promise of things to come. Shivering in delight, she stretched up to place a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“If you’re both done,” Alistair drawled lazily. 

“For now,” Cullen shrugged. The rest of the house was spacious and yet cozy. The main living room and kitchen lay central to the building, with two bedrooms at opposite ends, and a small washroom tucked into a corner alcove. “Could always add on, as well, in case you feel the need for a larger family.”

“Nope,” Kiyone shook her head vehemently. “Your turn. This oven is closed for business.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Evelyn glance down at her arm and frown. “Hey. You’d be an amazing mother.”

“Even as a cripple?” she mutterer bitterly.

“You are a capable, badass woman who took down a fucking ancient magister demon,” Kiyone shook her shoulders gently. “Forced an empress, a duke, and an elf to work together in Orlais. Saved the entire Grey Warden order.”

“I was whole then! Now, I’m-”

“Still that same person on the inside, physical limitations be damned,” Alistair stepped in closer, drawing her against him. “You’ve got us to help now, as well. You’re not in this alone, Ev.” From across the room, Cullen just shot her a stare that clearly read, I told you so.

Inhaling deeply, Evelyn let her lungs deflate in a noisy rush. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop wallowing in self-pity.”

“You’re allowed to mourn, Ev,” walking over to where she slumped against Alistair’s chest, Cullen pressed his lips to her soft, dark hair. “Just remember that you can do this. We have faith in you.”

Her breath left her lungs in a noisy rush. “Okay,” she nodded once. As long as she had them, anything was possible, right?

Peeking out of the window, Kiyone smiled as the sound of breaking twigs and giggles drew closer. “We have visitors.”

Cullen broke away to step out onto the porch, grinning as his children latched onto each of his arms and swung them up into the air, shrieking. “Do you like your new home?”

“I do,” Gavin piped up, eyeing the expanse of woods with unbridled glee and anticipation, plans for forts and epic dragon battles already rolling through his young imagination.

“It’s rather small,” his sister wrinkled her nose dubiously at the cottage.

“Ever the princess,” Alistair chuckled. “This will be good for them, both of them.”

“It is small, pup,” Cullen wryly agreed, “But it’s enough space for what we all need. Plus, now Aunt Evvy and I are close. See? That’s our house right there.”

Gasping, Sophia’s eyes lit up as she glanced from the house to her papa’s crooked smile. “All together? One big, happy family?”

“One big, happy family.”

***

“Soldiers approaching!”

Frowning as a full regiment of armed men cantered up the dusty road, Cullen strode out to meet them, arms crossed imposingly over his chest. “What’s all this?”

“Ser!” The lead guard, wearing the signia of House Theirin, snapped into a crisp salute. “I have something for His Highness, Alistair Theirin.”

“Oh Maker,” Alistair sprinted up the lane. “Don’t tell me… Is Frederick alright?” he demanded breathlessly.

“The young king is fine, Your Highness,” the man assured him, the barest hint of a smile twitching at his lips as Alistair sagged against Cullen in relief. “I have a parcel for you.”

“A parcel that requires the guard of an entire platoon?” Cullen asked in disbelief. There must have been upwards of 30 men accompanying the small box and scroll the captain handed over.

“I was just told to make sure to guard it with our lives, ser,” he shrugged. “And that under no circumstances, could it be lost.”

Curious and curiouser. Behind him, Alistair’s knees hit the hard packed dirt, the parchment slipping out of his numb fingers to rest softly on the ground. In his other hand, he clutched a tiny leather bag in trembling fingers. “Alistair?” Cullen knelt besides his lover. “What is it?”

“I-It’s… the cure,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

“The cure? For what?” he frowned in confusion.

“The taint, Cullen. Solona found the cure. She sent it to Denerim, thinking I was still there, as an apology for… everything. This,” the former Grey Warden licked his lips in awe, “This is it.”

***

There was nothing else in this world she could have possibly asked for. Everything her heart desired was right here, sitting around her- Alistair snuggled up around her, his arms around her waist. Cullen on the floor between her legs, resting his head against her thighs, Evelyn curled up in his lap. And the twins, playing quietly with the little carved animals Rylen had made them for their last nameday. 

No more Grey Warden taint. No more threat of a Calling, looming over them. Time, they had _time_ now. Not that a long life was guaranteed here, but finally, it was a possibility. There was a chance she could grow old with him, watch their babies grow together, hold their grandchildren. All thanks to a woman they both had long put from their minds.

Threading her fingers through her husband’s, Kiyone rested her head against his chest, basking in the cool breeze floating in through the open windows. 

“Got a letter saying we have nine new templars coming in, probably today or tomorrow,” Cullen mused. “And the blacksmith from Dragon’s Peak finally agreed to move here.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Alistair groaned. “My arms are killing me. I was not meant to work at a forge, casting horseshoes and shears all day.”

“But it’s doing such wonderful things to your physique,” Evelyn grinned up at him.

“It really is,” poking his bulging biceps, Kiyone couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped her as he flexed for her.

“In that case, I’ll see if he needs another apprentice.”

Evelyn laughed as she crossed the room to pour herself another glass of wine. “Anyone else?” At the chorus of yeses, she carried three glasses and the rest of the bottle over, settling on the couch next to Kiyone and Alistair as Sophia crawled into her lap.

“Mama, sing a song?” Gavin perked up when he heard his sister ask, scampering over to settle himself in Cullen’s lap, pleading with his mother with dark, shining eyes.

“Mama, sing?”

“Hmm.” Lightly, she ran her fingers through Cullen’s hair, once again an unruly riot of curls. Pulling one lock back, she watched it spring back into place with more than a little amusement.

“If you’re going to mock my hair, then you owe us all a song,” he grumbled from below.

“Alright.” Giggling as she continued to play with his curls, Kiyone hummed a few bars under her breath, and began to sing.

“ _I see trees of green, red roses too. I see them bloom for me and for you. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world._

_I see skies of blue, clouds of white. Bright, blessed days, dark, sacred nights. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world._

_The colors of a rainbow, so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of people going by. I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do. They’re really saying, I love you._

_I hear babies cry, I watch them grow. They’ll learn much more than I’ll ever know. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world._

_Yes, I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”_

"Pretty," Sophia nodded her approval. 

Feeling her husband's stubbled cheek nuzzling her hair, Kiyone tilted her head back to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I think the pie is ready. Help me, Ev?”

“Sure.” As soon as she stood up, Cullen slid up to take her place on the sofa, humming in satisfaction as Alistair immediately molded himself to his lover’s side. Fingers lazily traced idle patterns against the soft cotton of his breeches, his own hands gently combing through soft copper blonde locks.

“We did good, didn’t we?”

“For an orphan bastard-”

“And a broken templar.” Grinning up at him, Alistair made a sound of pure contentment, his eyes watching the women as they tried to keep the hot blackberry pie out of the reach of little grubby fingers.

“It’s hot!”

“Don’t care! Wanna pie!”

"You'll burn your mouth!"

"Don't caaaaare!"

“It never ceases to amaze me how much your son is just like you,” Cullen snorted.

“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.” Leaning back a little more, Alistair gazed up into amber eyes and traced the few wrinkles that crinkled as his lover smiled. “We really have come a long way.”

“Mmm. Everything was worth it in the end though.” For a minute, they both saw themselves as they once were- two untried lads, frightened by the strangeness and newness of their attraction to one another. Best friends. With the hidden potential to be so much more. 

“Pie?” A hefty slice of sweet, baked blackberries in a flaky crust beckoned both of the men, who eagerly accepted the plates with a decadent moan.

“Maybe I shouldn’t quit the forge, not if this is how you’re going to cook every night,” Alistair groaned. 

“We wouldn’t complain,” Evelyn winked. 

“Muscles,” Kiyone agreed.

“Gavin, please use your fork. You are not a mabari.” Watching his son shove his face into his food, Cullen couldn’t help the wince of dismay as the sugary confection smeared all over his face. “Just like your father. Hey, don’t steal my pie! You have your own!”

Kiyone burst into giggles as Alistair stuck his tongue out at the former Commander, his mouth full of stolen goods. “Cullen. I meant to ask you earlier, but what does Saorsa mean anyways?”

Smiling to himself, he scraped the last bit of errant blackberry into his mouth, leaning back to watch the candlelight dance over Sophie’s dark curls as she daintily finished her own plate while looking at her brother with utter disgust.

“It means freedom. Salvation. Redemption.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending on a fluffy, cavity filled, sweet note because I'm a firm believer in happy endings. <3
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read, left kudos, and commented! Y'all are the best. ^_^


	37. Art!

Just got this lovely sketch of Cullen, Alistair, and Kiyone from the amazingly talented [Yuhime Barbara](http://yuhimebarbara.tumblr.com/).

In which, Alistair tells a bad joke.


End file.
